One Of Them
by Rachelly
Summary: An experienced supernatural hunter has determined Sam to be supernatural. Can Dean protect Sam and stop the old hunter from collecting his next trophy?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Winchester men, nor do I own Supernatural.

Chapter 1

Denton wiped his double edged blade clean, removing all traces of blood that had been spilled that night. Its well worn blade once again reflected back the full moon's light as it attempted to make its way across the warehouse floor. The hunt had been a rough one requiring the seasoned hunter to pull from his many years of experience, but in the end the vampire was dead, beheaded at that. He was quite pleased with his victory and thought he'd pulled it off impressively in front of John's boys, heck he'd even saved the boys much to their embarrassment and relief, if they would dare to admit it.

"It's like I said," the old hunter gloated as he leaned over and winked at Dean, "We gotta kill them all, every last one of them, until there ain't any _Supernaturals_ left."

Dean, though grateful for the rescue, wasn't quite sure he liked the old hunter, even if he had teamed up with his father years earlier. First of all, his pride just didn't like having to get bailed out, and then, on top of that, the old man was rubbing his nose in it! While the humiliation itself didn't exactly thrill Dean, he reasoned it wasn't what was really bothering him either. No, it was more than that. Something just seemed off. This vampire slayer seemed almost a bit _too _eager to kill. Of course he was clearly justified to end its miserable existence when the blood sucker was holding Dean at bay while attempting to drain Sam of his blood. Hell, Dean would have done the same thing if he could have. Even now he had the overwhelming desire to take a whack at the headless corpse for trying to hurt Sam. And while Dean reasoned that he and Sam were always glad to kill the evil that lurked on their hunts, somehow, Denton seemed a bit over zealous, almost delighting in the blood and gore itself and not so much in the reason for it. Even Sam seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable and exchanged a look with Dean which clearly expressed his thoughts.

Dean decided that it was time to part ways and began his _Thanks_ and S_ee ya around_ speech when he noticed Sam's face beginning to tighten, a pained expression splashing across it. Dean knew the scenario all too well as he watched his brother begin to struggle with the onset of a vision.

"Damn," Dean muttered under his breath and as he tossed a glance cautiously over to Denton. His mind became bombarded with his concern for Sam and the fear of Denton's reaction to the situation.

Dean began to try to usher Sam out to the parking lot, anywhere, where they could ride out the damn thing without detection. Unfortunately, the vision was coming on too fast.

Sam began to shake, his hands quickly rose up against his temples while his jaw clenched. He moaned, then cried out and began to sway, stumbling down to his knees.

Knowing he could no longer hide Sam's vision from Denton, Dean chose to help Sam down and ride through the pain. Dean gently eased Sam's landing, placing his arms under his younger brother as he guided him down.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean offered sympathetically, knowing Sam could neither hear him nor find comfort in his words. Still, Dean needed to offer them. His love for his brother could make him do no less.

"What the…," Denton called out staring in disbelief as the scenario revealed itself before his very eyes.

Dean glanced up while still attempting to help Sam work through the pain of the vision.

"Son of a bitch," Denton stated accusingly, clearly familiar with what was going on. "He's ONE of them!"

Dean glanced up at the old hunter, half in anger and half in fear. _Crap_. This was the last thing they needed. Of all people, why the heck did Sammy have to go '_supernatural'_ in front of Denton.

"Shut up!" Dean demanded as the old hunter laughed out loud and approached Sam and Dean.

"Your brother's one of them_._ Unbelievable! Right under your nose! You hunt them clear across the country your entire freakin life, and yet you miss the one standing in front of your face!" Denton exclaimed in disbelief as he continued. "John Winchester, you hypocrite!" he hollered as he raised his fist up in the air shaking it while cursing the fallen warrior.

Sam continued to tremble as the vision continued; his eyes remained fixed and darkened, his body rocking back and forth attempting to survive the stress as the vision continued toward its conclusion.

"Back off!" Dean declared with venom in his voice.

"Sam?" the worried sibling questioned, hoping to help Sam recover quickly, fearing that Denton's advance would bring trouble with it.

Just as Dean feared, he saw the old hunter raise his weapon and aim it directly at Sam.

"DON'T!" Dean growled in a deep, threatening voice as he rose and stood protectively between his brother and his threat.

"He's a _Supernatural_, Dean. You know it and I know it!"

A chill ran down Dean's spine as all his fears were realized. The killer standing in front of him had just tried and convicted Sam.

"He's gotta die, Dean. It's only a matter of time till he_ goes dark side. _Just like them_,_" he finished, gesturing toward the decapitated vampire. "Do it now or you'll live to regret it," warned the determined hunter.

Dean's eyes grew black as he quickly drew his gun and aimed it directly at Denton.

"He's NOT one of them, and sure as hell isn't gonna die!" Dean corrected the old hunter with an alarming confidence. "Now you grab your gear and get the HELL out of here before I do something _you'll_ regret!"

The old hunter eyed Dean briefly, considering taking him on, but finally lowered his weapon realizing time might provide a better opportunity to take the _Supernatural_ out without confronting his older sibling.

"Your Dad had a lot of gall hunting when he was raising _one_ as a son," quipped the old hunter with an eerie almost evil laugh. "But mark my words," Denton threatened, narrowing his eyes and pointing his finger at Dean as he stood protectively guarding his sibling, "This ain't over. Either you take him out or I will the next time I see him."

Dean bit his lip as Denton turned and walked away with an overconfident swagger. He could tell Sam was still down and out of it behind him, and he was desperate to get to the kid and help him through it, but he didn't dare take his focus off of Denton-not until the bastard was no longer a threat.

Denton finally disappeared out through door of the warehouse, slamming it shut behind him.

If hatred and rage could be a poisonous mixed drink, Dean surely would have poured one for the old hunter and made him lap it up off the floor. By the end of the confrontation, Dean was visibly shaking. It had been close, too close. Sammy had been tried and condemned to death while totally unable to defend himself, and Dean, well, Dean had come close to killing a man, not a possessed man or a shapeshifter in the form of another person, but a regular, albeit warped man. It frightened Dean on all kinds of levels as he swept his hand across his face and attempted to refocus. _Sam_.

Dean whirled around to check on his brother.

To his surprise Sam was looking back at him with fear in his eyes.

"The vision?" Dean asked assuming what his brother had seen had something to do with his obvious distress.

"I donno, Dean," Sam answered casting his eyes downward and shaking his head. "Maybe I am a freak."

Dean shook his head. "NO, Sam, you're not!" he countered, his anger at Denton burning through his veins. "Gifted? Maybe. But freak? '_Supernatural'_? No. Hell, no! He's off his rocker, Sam. Hell, he's not even on it to begin with! Guy's screwed up. You got that?" he questioned, his eyes desperate for his younger brother to agree.

Sam nodded hesitantly. Dean was mad, pissed more like it. But Sam could tell that Dean's anger was based on his concern, and that he was just being protective. It wasn't aimed at him. His use of the word 'gifted' was debatable, but the perspective was well received- If Dean thought he was a freak, he'd let Sam know. If Denton thought he was a freak...screw him.

"You just stay as far away from him as you can, you got that?" Dean commanded.

"I intend to," Sam softly replied.

"Can you get up?" Dean questioned turning his attention on his brother's well being and wanting to get the kid the hell out of Kansas.

Sam nodded and began to raise himself up with the help of his brother's outstretched hand.

Dean noted that Sam was entrenched in thought as he rose and stood statue-like without saying a word.

"You good?" Dean questioned wanting to know what had brought his normally talkative sibling to silence.

Sam nodded, rubbing his right temple with his fingers.

"Yeah," Sam answered, still clearly deep in thought.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean asked gently, his big brother senses telling him his younger brother was no where near the vicinity of good.

"About Denton?" Sam questioned thinking his brother's focus was there.

"I was thinking more of the vision," Dean responded.

Sam nodded. Dean knew him, sometimes better than he knew himself, and he wasn't surprised he'd picked up on his trepidation.

"It was a bit interrupted." Sam offered, eyes searching Dean's, clearly holding back."

"And," Dean prodded.

"And it was weird," Sam finally put out, his eyebows dipping in concern.

"Weird, how?" Dean answered feeling the need to brace himself for what might be coming if he was reading his brother's visual cues right.

"I was _in_ it," Sam stated with a hint of despair.

"Well, that's new," Dean stated flatly, not really sure what to make of his brother's statement.

Reading Sam's distressed features, he realized there had to be more to the story.

"What were you doing?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam glanced away briefly, unable to look his brother directly in the face.

Dean gently grabbed his arm to steady his distraught sibilng and to encourage him to answer.

"Dying, Dean," Sam finally answered before returning his sad gaze to his older brother.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Concern formed creases, just above Dean's eyebrows, which quickly spread until they were literally etched all over his face.

"What?" Dean asked incredulously, looking in horror at his younger brother. Questions, almost too many in number, began to spew.

"Dying? Why? What happened!"

"I'm not sure," Sam offered in confusion.

"Damn it, Sammy. Think. Why were you dying? What happened to you?"

"I'm not sure, Dean."

"Were we on a hunt?"

"No, I don't think so."

"What do you mean 'you don't think so?' I thought you said the visions were very clear and detailed, and that it was like watching it happen," Dean anxiously questioned.

"It usually is. But this was confusing and to be honest, I was half watching and half taking in what was going on with Denton. I felt you were in danger and my attention was divided. Somehow I lost parts of the vision I guess."

"Damn him," Dean cursed before continuing. "Do you remember if we were in the car?"

"No, not in the car."

"Where were you?"

"It was dark and musty. Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. I remember seeing an old farmhouse, I think. Or maybe it was a barn."

"Was I with you?" Dean asked hesitantly, fearing the unthinkable- that Sam might be alone somewhere where Dean could not help him.

Sam paused.

His hesitation didn't go unnoticed by his protective older brother.

"Sam. Was I with you!"

"No," Sam offered softly. "I was... alone."

Sam looked back at Dean with a desperate expression.

Dean shook his head. It was unthinkable.

"No. No way," Dean defiantly stated, shaking his head with conviction. Sam sure as hell wasn't going to die alone by himself. Not now, not ever. Dean knew that if, God forbid, Sam ever did get killed, that he would go down with his little brother. It was an unspoken law. And nothing would ever change it.

But Sam's visions were damn accurate. And, if this one was the real deal, something was going to get his little brother alone and...

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Was it the demon, Sammy?"

"I don't think so."

"What about the timing? Was it night? Day? What?"

"Night. No, maybe day. I don't know, Dean. Maybe both," Sam stated in exasperation.

"When do you think it'll happen? I mean are we talking today, tomorrow, next year? What?" Dean spewed, his eyebrows creased almost fearing the answer.

"Soon," was the youngest Winchester's reply.

Sam began to weaken as the prolonged pain from the lingering headache and the questions began to reveal some unpleasant truths. He would be alone and dying sometime in the near future, and he really had no clue as to how or when this would happen or even how to prevent it. He shifted a bit too far to his left and nearly lost his balance.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean spoke softly and with confidence. "We'll figure this out. We've stopped a lot of crap from happening before with your visions. This is just another one to figure out," he offered, though his insides were churning with fear of what might happen if they couldn't.

Sam knew Dean was worried. He could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Yet, somehow he found comfort in his brother's words. Maybe it was the tone or the strength of the heart that spoke them, but Sam knew that if there were a way to figure it out, Dean would find it.

Dean helped Sam make it to the Impala and settled him into the passenger seat.

The younger sibbling slid down in the black leather seat resting his aching head against the back and closed his eyes. _God, his head hurt_.

Seeing his sibling settle in, Dean surveyed the parking lot looking for signs of the old hunter. He was relieved that he was nowhere in sight. He hoped his threat was idle and that the bent hunter would give it up and move on. Right now, Dean had something bigger to worry about- keeping his little brother safe.

He started the engine, turned the music off to give Sam a bit of quiet to rest, and drove off, heading back toward the motel. The tires crunched the gravel beneath them as he skidded onto the street.

In clear hearing distance rose a rough old hunter- who had now determined his next prey.


	3. Chapter 3

_Previously_

_Dean surveyed the parking lot looking for any signs of the old hunter and was relieved that he was no where in sight. He hoped his threat to Sam was idle and that the bent hunter would give it up and move on. Right now, Dean had something bigger to worry about-Sammy's vision and keeping his little brother safe. He started the engine, turned the music off to give Sam a bit of quiet to rest, and drove off heading back towards the motel._

_The Impala's tires crunched the gravel beneath them as Dean skidded her onto the street; in clear hearing distance rose a rough old hunter who had now determined his next prey._

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Chapter 3

Sam awoke early the next morning to find Dean still sitting in the rusty velvet swivel chair from the night before. It was amusing to Sam to see how in the course of the night the chair had conformed to Dean's body, almost swallowing him whole. He was obviously tired and uncomfortable but had, nevertheless, kept a constant vigil over Sam. Dean's care had not gone unnoticed and Sam smiled appreciatively at him.

"Sleep well?" Dean sarcastically questioned his little brother through blurry eyes. He picked up on Sam's smile. "What?" he questioned.

"Better than you, apparently," Sammy replied wondering how long his brother could have remained in the chair without disappearing altogether leaving no trace.

Sam stretched across the double bed practically dwarfing it as his long arms and legs reached beyond its edges. He brushed his soft brown bangs out of his line of vision. The truth was, Sam hadn't slept well at all. Both he and Dean knew it and the condition of the bed covers boldly testified to it as well. The top sheet was in a rumpled heap on the floor to the left, the blanket was balled up on Sam's right and the large oversized bedspread was lost somewhere between the bottom of the bed and the rusted bed frame.

"How's the headache?" Dean questioned as his eyes checked Sam's for any signs of distress.

"Better, " Sam replied and as if he could read Dean's mind, he added, "and no, no more visions or nightmares for that matter."

The slight smile that had swept across Sam's young face moments earlier suddenly vanished. His eyes began to bare witness to the fear that was beginning to bubble up to the surface of his consciousness as he remembered the reason for Dean's vigil. His eyes connected to Dean's as if searching for some reason not to drown in the fear that was rising from deep within him.

Sam's despairing search tugged on his protective older sibling. Dean sat up leaning forward on his knees wanting to reassure Sammy, offering him hope where hope was desperately needed. " I've given this a lot of thought, Sam, so hear me out." Dean waited for a brief second expecting an argument, but none came. Instead, Sam sat staring at Dean waiting to hear the plan, gosh, they needed a plan.

"First, let's go over the vision or what you remember of it and write it down. Second, let's establish some rules. You are NOT, I repeat, NOT to go anywhere ALONE. You got that?"

Sam smiled, pleased with his brother's concern, "Yeah, I got that."

"Second, if we get into a "situation" or trouble of any kind, you high tail it out and protect yourself…no matter what…"

Sam began to move his lips in protest.

"No matter what! I mean it, Sam! I don't care what's going on around you, you get yourself safe."

Sam feared that would be Dean's plan and he knew if it came down to it, he couldn't do it if it meant leaving Dean in trouble.

"Dean, I can't…"

Dean interrupted, "Yes, Sam, you _can_ and you _will _or so help me I will personally _kill_ you myself. You got that?"

Sam didn't answer.

"You got that, Sam?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Sam replied in a typical teen-parent brush off kind of way.

"Promise me."

"Dean."

"Promise!"

"Okay, but it won't come to that, alright?"

"Alright."

Dean relaxed a little bit with Sam's promise. Sammy's track record for promises was excellent, probably the only benefit of having such a morally upright brother.

"Get yourself dressed. We need to grab a bite to eat, go over your vision, and look into local properties to see if we can find anything on a remote home, farmhouse, barn, whatever, that is no longer occupied. If we can clarify your vision, we can figure out how to stop it.

Sam appreciated his brothers concern and dedication. Inside, he knew, however, that Dean would die if it came to that to protect him, and Sam secretly vowed that, promise or not, he would never let that happen. He arose quietly to shower and began trying to recover the details of his vision so that he and Dean could record them before they began their search.

Showered, dressed, and fed, the boys began to go over the details of Sam's vision as they sat in the corner of the local diner away from the listening ears of the waitresses and busboys. Dean was on complete alert summing up each and every person in the diner who even glanced in Sam's direction. It was beginning to make Sam nervous.

"Dean"

"Yeah?"

"You're creeping me out."

"Just lookin' around, Sammy, lookin' around."

"Yeah," Sam exhaled. Well, could you be a little less obvious? You look like you just robbed a bank and you're trying to avoid the sheriff."

With a wounded face Dean declared, "Dude, I'm just checking out the lovely ladies of this fine establishment," he replied trying to cover his intent and put Sam's mind at ease. Truth was, he was scared to death and ready to go out guns blazing to protect his brother from whatever it was that was going to try to hurt him.

"Yeah, sure." Sam half laughed and then glanced back to the notes he was writing about the vision.

They finished breakfast and headed off to investigate the community's properties especially focusing on the outlying areas. After gaining a few possibilities, they decided to take a drive to check them out.

A tired, scruffy older man drifted into the county records office later that afternoon and requested information on any outlying properties that were no longer occupied. The clerk behind the desk would have laughed at the request if it hadn't already been made only a few hours before. The newness of the request was no longer there and she thought it quite odd that there would be such interest in such worthless land.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sam and Dean spent the better part of the morning checking out the properties on the east side of the county, three to be exact. Each inspection went pretty much the same: Dean parked the Impala about a mile down the road, each hunter, with weapon in hand, approached the property cautiously, and Dean always went first followed by Sammy of course.

Sam had objected to the last part of their strategy explaining that it would be easier to recognize things if he was actually looking forward but Dean would hear none of it. Instead, back to back, they checked out each place and space and only after determining the situation to be "safe" would Dean allow Sam to look around freely. Sam didn't bother to question the routine anymore, instead, he followed the strategy his big brother had laid out. After all, he did appreciate his brother's concern. Sam just hoped that the upcoming inspection would end the same as it had happened three times before, approximately thirty minutes into the search, Dean looks at Sam, Sam shakes his head, and they trek back to the Impala.

When they arrived less than a mile from the fourth property, Dean, after admiring the rumbling idle of his baby, cut the engine and moved to exit his poor dust covered car. He was halted by his brother's quiet call.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean turned back, eyebrows raised, to look at his younger brother. He knew that tone and what his little brother was going to ask even before he began to painstakingly try to say it.

"You don't think," Sam paused, glancing down at his hands resting nervously on his worn jeans, " I mean… What I mean is.."

Dean noticed Sam's difficulty in getting the words out and resettled back down in his seat, his body now angled in Sam's direction, his eyes supportive.

Sam continued, "Do you think that we might actually be causing my vision to come true by being out here. I mean, maybe us finding the place leads to… you know – my death?"

There it was again… out in the open - Sam's vision of his coming death.

"Sam," interrupted Dean shaking his head. "No, I don't and let's go over this again. Your vision…it's not gonna happen! I mean it, Sam, I WON'T allow it!" Dean, surprised by the forcefulness of his own voice, softened his tone and continued, trying to reason with his little brother, trying to convince Sam, as much as himself, that he would be safe, the vision would be prevented and that the plan was a good one.

"Look, the way I see it we have two choices… wait for this … "thing" … to happen and try to stop it, having no idea what we're up against (or) try to get more details, ya know, check these places out, see if they clarify your vision in any way. At least if we know where you'll be or what we're hunting, we can stop it before it hurts you."

Sam already knew Dean was right. To wait and do nothing was a weak plan at best. Dad had ingrained it in both of them years earlier. Be the hunter, not the hunted. Know what you're up against and choose the terms of the hunt, its location, its weapons of warfare.

Sam almost wished Dad were here. As much as he questioned the man and defied his absolute, sometimes drill sergeant approach to parenting, it gave the illusion that he was in total control of each and every situation and for now, Sam wished for that touch of security. Sam paused before concluding his thought- in reality, however, it really was Dean who offered Sam security-always had, always would.

Dean's eyes looked sympathetically at Sam's, waiting for his response.

"Yeah, your right." Sam replied appreciatively.

"Are we okay, Sam?" Dean questioned finally.

Sam nodded, opened his car door and stepped out. Dean watched, deep in thought. He had asked himself the same question three houses back and drawn the same conclusion. Still, to hear it again put Dean even more on edge. What if….? Dean shoved the question beginning to brew out of his head.

With weapons, pre-chosen, they checked out the property with stealth-like precision, their movements matched and intentional, back to back, connected, weapons raised and ready, turning in synchronized fashion as if performing a dance perfectly choreographed.

The result was nonetheless the same. Nothing was familiar, nothing was found, Sam shook his head, and they moved on.

"One more?" Dean questioned detecting Sam's disappointment that the day was slipping away and they had made no progress in unraveling the mystery that hung like a noose before him.

"Sure," Sammy replied, glad to see Dean had no intention of giving up. His big brother's commitment and confidence that they would continue until the threat no longer existed offered him the security he so desperately needed.

Dean secured the weapons in the trunk and suavely slid back into his baby, its black leather seats now hot from the sun's overhead rays.

Just before joining him on the front seat, Sam heard a sound coming from his brother's side of the car. He suddenly motioned to get his brother's attention.

Dean glanced over when Sam didn't enter the car. The youngest hunter's finger was up to his lips gesturing for his brother to be silent. Dean froze, his heart thumped loudly in his chest as he went on full alert. He searched his baby brother's eyes to determine whether he should attempt to make it to the trunk for a weapon.

The oldest sibling could tell Sam was listening, but to what? He glanced worriedly around the car trying to detect whatever it was that had put his little brother on alert. His eyes returned to Sam's.

"Hear it?" Sam questioned as softly as he could.

Dean shook his head and formed the word "what?" on his lips without making a sound.

"Your stomach, dude." A huge smile swept across Sam's face as he broke out laughing in his typical high pitched, Sammy kind of way. "I can't believe you missed it. I could hear it growling all the way over here," he jested, "... Remind me never to be on a stake out with you when you're hungry, man!" Truth was, his older brother's dependency on food had always amused Sam. The guy couldn't go more than a few hours without some major refueling. He pointed to his brother's face and continued laughing, "Man, your face! Dean, you should have seen your eyes pop out of your head!" He had enjoyed watching his brother fall so easily into his prank. It was a rare moment when he could truly catch Dean unaware. He knew he might be initiating all kinds of trouble for himself in the future; his big brother was never one to let a prank go by unchallenged. Still, Sam had decided it was worth the risk.

"Smart ass," Dean gruffed at his little brother, "That is so not cool!"

After settling down a bit, Sam began to feel kind of badly that Dean had actually taken him so seriously. Maybe with all that was going on, his timing hadn't been the best. Sam couldn't help but notice that even with all Dean's bravado earlier about Sam being safe and the vision not happening, it was obvious by his reaction to the prank, that he was clearly more fearful than he was letting on.

Sam relented. "Sorry, man," he offered as he slid onto the passenger seat. "Didn't mean to really scare you."

"I wasn't scared…." Dean paused… "much."

"Yeah, sure," Sam offered relieved that his bother wasn't ticked. "How hungry are you?"

Dean's stomach answered and Sam couldn't help but break into another round of laughter. Sam's laugh was rare these days and Dean had to admit it was good to know he still knew how.

"What?" Dean questioned embarrassingly, starting the engine and turning up the cassette player trying to drown out the chorus that was beginning to well up inside his stomach. "I can't help it! If I don't eat soon, my stomach's gonna start growling ' Creeping Death'!"

Dean's words did exactly what they were supposed to do, get a rise out of Sam.

"God help me." Sammy moaned back. "Metallica in stereo is more than I can handle, more than anyone should have to handle for that matter."

Truth was, if Sam were willing to admit it, his brother's music was beginning to grow on him, no maybe more like become tolerable to him.

Dean rolled his eyes trying hard not to play into his brother's hand. In a way, he was glad his little brother lighten up for a brief moment, even if it had been at his expense.

"Maybe we should hit the diner in town again before we head west." He glanced over to Sam who seemed agreeable. "I'll treat," he offered, "even if you really _don't_ deserve it," he added with his classic crooked smile. "Maybe I'll buy you dessert if you're good!"

Dean got the response he was looking for as a half smile once again graced his little brother's face.

Sam couldn't resist testing the limits.

"Are you gonna play sheriff again? Cuz I don't think I could take another meal with you protecting me, especially from a vicious lunchtime crowd."

"Cute," Dean replied annoyingly. "Very cute- Nice change, by the way," he added. "I'm usually the cute one," he chuckled. "Oh, and Sam, definitely no dessert for you!"

They entered the diner just towards the end of the lunch time crowd. Dean blessed the pretty young waitress that had seated them for breakfast with his irresistible smile.

She smiled sweetly, not drawn in by his attempt at charm and sarcastically replied, "Same table as _this morning?" _

Dean snorted softly, shifting uncomfortably, aware of his brother's pleasure at seeing him crash and burn. He gestured at Sam who was innocently standing beside him amused that Dean's magic seemed to have no affect her. "Actually, _he _loved breakfast so much that he wanted to come back for seconds."

Sam looked at his brother in surprise wondering how the heck the situation had ended up turning on him when he had said or done nothing.

In the end, both boys sheepishly took their seats, placed their orders, and began to plan their next few stops. The humor that had been enjoyed earlier quickly dissipated as the seriousness of their situation returned to them. Dean tried as best he could to honor Sam by not playing the "sheriff" but it was impossible. His little brother was in trouble and there was no way in heck that he would take a lunch break. He resigned to look at Sam whenever his brother glanced up and took every other opportunity when Sam wasn't looking to scan the crowd for possible threats.

Sam, fully in tune with Dean, knew exactly what Dean was doing but decided not to make a big deal out of it. If it put Dean's mind at ease, then he was willing to oblige. He did feel sorry for the waiter when he tried to bring Sam an extra knife after his had accidentally dropped, clanging noisily on the hard diner floor. The poor guy had no clue when Dean grabbed his arm and forcefully removed the knife from him. Sadly, the waiter had left shortly after and Sam couldn't help but wonder if the reason was to dry off. While Dean's constant vigil was appreciated, it was a constant reminder to Sam of his oncoming doom and as the meal progressed, Sam's demeanor slowly declined.

Feeling sorry for the kid, Dean relented and bought Sam dessert. (Yeah, alright, his little brother had pulled out the puppy eyes and hinted that dessert would make him feel better.) Dean hated to admit it, but he was a sucker when it came to Sammy, always was, always would be. Sam knew it and used his little brother advantage whenever the situation allowed, especially for dessert.

It wasn't long before they were back on the road again, this time deciding to head north instead of west for whatever reason, neither one was sure, but north it was, mutually agreed upon.

A black truck slowly pulled out shortly after the Impala left town. The driver slowly caressed the smooth silver weapon strategically placed on the front seat beside him. A slow tingle traveled along the spine of the old hunter as he initiated the hunt and anticipated its conclusion. He had chosen his prey and he knew its protector. He had chosen the location and the weapons needed to bring it to its demise. It was now only a question of when. He would silently, carefully watch and wait until the opportunity presented itself. Based on the direction the boys were heading, the when was soon, very soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dean halted his black '67 Chevy abruptly at the end of what appeared to be woods and checked his map again.

"Well that's just great!" he groused as he glanced up at the next stop on their list.

Spread out before them was a property of multiple acreage, flat as tin foil and completely void of anything except dead grasses bent over kissing the dusty landscape.

"This is gonna be _impossible_ to approach without being seen," Sam commented unnecessarily.

"Ya think?" Dean quipped back.

"Don't think it's occupied anyways," continued Sam as he pointed to the condition of the property.

"Yeah, well, what we're looking for might not bother to trim the hedges and plant flowers in the garden, Sam."

"Just stop at the end of the driveway-we can walk up from there." Sam suggested.

Dean hesitated, eyeing the long gravel driveway that meandered up to the farmhouse which had obviously been abandoned for years.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed, "but keep sharp." He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Sam was right; there was no way to approach the house without being seen. Parking near the bottom of the driveway, if you could call it that, would at least offer them a more quiet entry, drawing less attention then pulling up to the front door with his baby rumbling loudly. Besides, chances are, if anything were inside expecting them, it probably already knew they were there.

Dean parked his baby and popped open the trunk. The boys loaded their weapons, released the safeties, and, with guns in hand, approached the farmhouse.

"Well?" Dean asked as they stood several yards away from the front of the fifth house on their list. "Anything?"

Sam sighed as he studied the broken down house that barely stood before them practically begging to be put out of its misery.

"I don't know, Dean. I don't recognize it, but I'm not sure I would, even if it were right in front of me. The vision was sketchy at best," he added wearily.

"Well, let's give it a once over, huh?" Dean spoke reassuringly. "Can't hurt." He glanced over at Sam when he noticed his little brother was rubbing his forehead.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied softly.

"Vision?" Dean asked feeling a panic beginning to well up inside him. He always got that feeling when Sam rubbed his temples- that, 'Oh, shit!' kind of feeling that gets your heart pumping and gives you an adrenaline rush. This time, however, Dean had mixed emotions. While on the one hand, he would do absolutely anything to prevent his little brother from having to suffer from yet another vision, he also desperately wanted to know exactly what was ahead in order to be damn sure their hunt did not end in Sammy's death. Either way, he clearly recognized that the worst thing he could do would be to take Sam into a hunt feeling less than one hundred percent. He knew all too well that his little brother had absolutely no chance of defending himself once a vision grabbed hold of him. As much as he longed to know more, one thing was for sure, now was definitely not the right time for one and the 'Oh, shit!' feeling won out.

"Just a headache."

"You sure!" Dean stated firmly wanting clarity before continuing.

"Yeah," Sam repeated.

Truth was it didn't feel like either. The onset seemed too sudden to be a headache, yet it didn't increase in pain or intensity like a vision normally did. And no images were forming in his head, either.

Dean suggested Sam take a minute and he obliged. A few minutes later he visually checked his brother over and asked, "Sam, you good?"

Sam nodded. What ever it was, it hadn't gotten any worse.

Dean couldn't resist the urge to caution his brother one more time. "Let's go. Just stay close and…"

Sam interrupted rolling his eyes, "and if I see anything familiar or get my Sammy sense, let you know."

"I always knew you were the bright spark in the family, Sammy." Dean teased trying to cheer his little brother up a bit. His tone changed as he focused at the task ahead, "But seriously, Sam, keep your eyes open."

Sam spoke, attempting to ease his brother's concerns, "I'm with you, remember? My vision had me dying… ." Sam paused as the reality of his vision bubbled back up to the surface along with his fears.

"Alone. I know, Sam, and it's not happening. We're gonna stick together and make damn sure of that, okay?

"Yeah, I guess." Sam replied looking at Dean with his big brown eyes searching for some reason to believe his brother.

"No '_I guess'_, Sam. Sure, **damn **sure! You got that?"

"Yes, Sir!" Sam offered humorously.

"Cute." Dean quipped. "Dad would be proud if you used it on …him… once in a while…" Dean's voice trailed down as did his head as he realized what he had just said.

Both boys paused for a moment. Dad. Neither one had planned on bringing up that topic. Dean had spoken in the present tense. It sounded so normal to speak of John in the present. But in fact, John would never have the chance to hear Sam's "Yes, Sir," again. Both struggled with their father's death and had almost, by their silence in regard to that issue, formed an unspoken agreement not to go there. Too painful. Sam, on the one hand wished sometimes they could talk about it, about Dad. Dean on the other wouldn't go near it. Sam wondered if he really needed to talk whether Dean would allow the conversation but he decided that part of the reason his brother was going on was because he wasn't looking back and Dad was back. Sam wanted to allow Dean to keep the wall up for as long as he needed to, knowing that when he was ready to let Sam in, he would and Sam would be there ready to catch Dean if he should fall. It was the least he could do. Dean was always catching Sam.

After a moment of awkward silence, Dean nodded to Sam and disappeared inside the old house with Sam close behind him. Once inside, they assumed their positions: back to back, connected, guns readied, once again in fluid motion. If Sammy even breathed differently, Dean would have known instantly.

The place had been pretty stripped. The plaster on the walls was chipped and cracked; some pieces lay shattered on the floor. Most of the windows were broken and all of the furniture had been removed years before, though the worn paths in the floor boards hinted as to where the furniture might have been.

The floor of the old place creaked under the heavy footsteps of the experienced hunters. They had taken up their typical back to back formation, weapons raised on full alert. They traveled room to room on the first level without so much as a concern. The boys arrived at the staircase and glanced upwards. It looked pretty much the same. Dean glanced back at Sam.

"Anything?"

Sam shook his head. The motion aggravated the pain in his head and it briefly increased. Then, Sam sensed something. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but somehow he couldn't help but feel that this place _was _familiar. It wasn't so much that anything looked familiar, although he had seen the place mostly from a backwards perspective since Dean insisted on facing forwards, it was more that feeling you get when you know you aren't in a good situation but are unable to determine why. Dean interrupted Sam's unproductive scattered thoughts.

"Let's try upstairs," the older sib whispered, "I'd rather check the whole place out and cross it off, if we can."

Dean cautiously began his ascent up the staircase with Sam covering his back. The stairs were rickety at best and begged to be repaired or turned into firewood. Dean cautioned Sam about the third and seventh stairs by gesturing downward. Sam gladly stepped over them, his long legs a clear advantage in this situation. Unfortunately, Dean's attention to Sam's safety caused him to misjudge the eleventh step. As he placed his full weight on the presumably sturdy step, it suddenly gave way. He began to pitch right falling towards the rickety railing which easily gave way to clear a path straight down for Dean.

"Dean!" Sam hollered and grabbed for Dean's jacket with his free hand attempting to try to prevent the disaster unfolding before his eyes. Dean teetered on the edge for only a moment before the force of Sam's pull yanked him back to safety. He slid down one step landing practically on top of Sam while Sam attempted to ease his brother's descent. The end result was Dean sitting in Sam's lap.

Dean quickly recovered and couldn't help but take advantage of the situation by humiliating his little brother. "Sam, I know ya love me, but…"

Sam snorted and pushed his brother off his lap half grinning and half shaking his head that he had given his brother the opportunity to once again get the better hand in the situation.

"You wish." Sam teased back.

"Oh, and by the way, if anyone or anything had any doubts that we were here. I'm sure they're completely gone!" he said sarcastically. Between the splitting and falling wood and Sam, hollering Dean's name, the opportunity for stealth had long gone by. (Good thing John wasn't there to see his expert training fall to pieces.)

Suddenly, both boys were startled by the sound of a truck pulling up into the gravel driveway.

"Great." Dean barked as he looked back at Sam. "Police, maybe? That's all we need."

Both boys began to make their way back down the staircase carefully avoiding the steps that looked ready to give way. Dean peered out the small broken window at the bottom.

"Son of a Bitch," Dean exclaimed, "Denton." His eyes immediately went dark as he grabbed Sam's jacket and protectively pulled him back away from the window. "The bastard must have followed us here."

Sam glanced at Dean and could see the wheels turning furiously in Dean's eyes.

"Stay here. I'll get rid of the bastard." Dean commanded.

"I thought the plan was to stay together?" Sam questioned, half afraid of Dean going out to face this maniac by himself, and half uncomfortable about being alone. They had pretty much checked out the place and he was fairly convinced that if anything had been there, their commotion would have stirred it into action. Still, he had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right and then there was the pain in his head.

Dean frowned, his face taking on that all too familiar half angry, more worried look. He was between a rock and a hard place. Leave Sam alone to possibly fulfill the vision or parade him in front of an experienced hunter who had boldly declared Sam to be his prey.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi all…just a heads up, this chapter goes a bit dark as you get a glimpse into the mind of Denton. Felt some details were needed to help you better understand what Sam and Dean will be up against. Hope it isn't too dark for ya! Thanks for reading. Read on!

Chapter 6

Dean chose to stay with Sam, knowing that being together was their only strategy against the vision and its revelation of Sam dying alone. He held his finger up to his lips as he glanced back at Sam. He had no intention of revealing Sam's presence to the self proclaimed killer. He would allow Denton to approach to within hearing distance, and confront the advancing hunter from inside the house. It wasn't an impressive fortress, but its dilapidated shell would offer more cover than the flat field that blanketed the property all around them.

Denton strolled up to the Impala, an overconfident smile swept across his scruffy lips. He rubbed his hand along her side knowing how irritating it would be to Dean.

Dean raised his gun, aimed it directly at the dangerous hunter and hollered, "That's far enough!" His voice was threatening, authoritative, and convincing. When it came to Sam's safety, Dean was dead serious.

The shrewd hunter stopped in his tracks, hoping to create the illusion of apprehension on his part. The first part of his strategy, to confront the boys head on, was going well. It always did whenever he used it. It created confusion, suspicion, and intimidation. It gave the hunted a false sense of being able to control a situation. It was only a matter of time before the evil huntsman would use these three he was creating, to his advantage.

Sam shifted nervously beside his older brother attempting to watch what was taking place outside as well as inside. He glanced frequently around the room, covering their backs while Dean was preoccupied with what was unfolding outside. He couldn't help but wonder if this decrepit house was a place of refuge or a prison. It was still unknown as to whether there was any threat inside, but the threat outside was undeniable. Sam chose to think of it as a refuge.

Dean noticed Sammy's motions and once again grabbed his brother's sleeve to pull him closer and calm him. It was hard to project confidence to Sam when he was so irritated by the hunter's gall and extremely suspicious. What the hell was he up to, coming at them so directly? It was unexpected and Dean didn't like it. In fact, he detested it and the man who initiated it.

"Turn your ass around, get back in your damn truck and get the hell out of here!"

Denton felt a familiar tingle, which had always preceded his most successful hunts, slowly make its way up his spine as he proceeded with his meticulously devised plan. Like a master chessman planning his moves several turns in advance, Denton had carefully calculated this game. The pieces: the protector, the predator, and the prey, were already on the board strategically placed. The match was already in play.

The scheming hunter knew how his opponents would play the game. He'd studied under their mentor and knew their training. He knew their strengths, but he also knew their weaknesses: trust, love, and fear. Trust-John's boys weren't stupid, but they were more trusting than they should be. Their youth and experiences hadn't hardened them enough. It was a hole through which he could worm his way through. Love- John's love for them as well as their love for each other, was one of their greatest weaknesses, something he could easily use against them and to his own advantage. Fear-fear of pain, fear of death, fear of losing a loved one; it causes even the clearest minded, to lose his edge. John had thought he had taught his boys all they needed to be "safe"; he thought he had spent his life time protecting his boys and teaching them to protect themselves, but in the end, the very protection he had offered would lead to their demise the warped hunter mused.

The conniving old hunter knew the protector, a significant piece on the chess board that was not to be ignored. Dean was a hunter, whose past had carved out in him a mighty warrior's heart which had been sadly misguided. The eldest Winchester sibling had been raised by his father with a tolerance for evil, having lived with and loved a "_supernatural_" as his brother. He was bound, even unto death, to protect "the prey", which he so dearly loved. He was to be pitied, a victim of John's confusion, full of commitment to the very thing he was created to destroy. He'd seen Dean's absolute commitment in his eyes when the vampire had threatened to suck the liquid life out of Sam. Fear, sheer fear. The twisted hunter planned to use Dean's ultimate fears against him, to cause him to lose his edge. He could taste Dean's hidden fear in his voice even now; it was intoxicating. The warped hunter did not believe this young Winchester needed to be a casualty of this "war" evil had initiated with mankind. He had already become a casualty, having been tricked into dedicating his life to defend "the prey". Instead, the protector simply needed to be removed, separated as you will, from the prey, detached, disconnected from the single purpose he had for his existence. Once the protector was made impotent, the hunt would continue, building like a river, increasing in size, gaining strength, surging down hill, gaining power as its smaller tributaries join with it, obliterating everything that dares to be in its path… the prey.

The demented hunter also knew "the prey", the prized piece to check mate on the chessboard. It exists now as a hunter, devastated by the past, lost and confused in the present, and frightened by the future- a brother, bound by his love for his sibling, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice should it be required of him. It is his trust, love, and fear, all present in the very fibers of his being, which will ultimately cause his undoing. "The prey" is a "_Supernatural_", connected in some inexplicable way to the realms of evil waging war against all of humanity. Just as a rabid animal masquerades as a family pet, trusting and loving, until it turns its host into an abomination, so this prey masquerades as a human being. The infection that courses through its veins? Evil, pure evil. And just like the rabid animal that he/it is, infected with malevolence, ultimately created to exterminate the innocent, the "Non-Supernaturals", it must be hunted down and destroyed. Yes, the prey must to be killed to protect the innocents of this world. The hunter had dedicated his entire life to this mission. But, before it can be destroyed, it must be punished first, suffer for daring to exist, suffer for all the crimes it would have committed had it not been destroyed. It must be made an example of, in order to send a message to the evil dominions that exist in the utter dark places of the universe, that such abominations would not be tolerated. Denton trembled slightly; his hatred was so overwhelmingly intense. The demented hunter reasoned that he had become an expert hunter, albeit self-proclaimed, because he had put to death all of his handicaps: trust, love, and fear - His purpose in a nut shell, to save humanity.

The truth was, Denton lived on the edge of humanity; in fact, he had actually fallen off humanity's plane of existence, unknowingly tumbling into the abyss of the criminally insane. He never noticed he had fallen and his twisted mind was now incapable of reasoning any differently.

The old hunter's thoughts abruptly halted and he entered back into the game. The planning of each move and his opponent's possible responses was truly intriguing, but playing the game offered a thrill beyond reason. And now, it was his move. The goal of this move and the several that would follow? -to establish trust while playing on both fear and love.

He swaggered a few steps forward, extending his hands open and upward in a gesture of peace as he began to spin his web of deceit.

"Aw, C'mon, Dean. You're not still sore about yesterday, are ya?"

Dean answered with a shot fired only inches from his left boot.

"Look man, I'm sorry," the old hunter barked through the scruffy hair on his top lip. "I don't know why I reacted the way I did. I think it was the hunt er somethin. Ya know how it is, ya get in hunt mode and it's just hard to step outta it. I've given it a lot of thought. I owe John that much. Visions aren't always supernatural in nature. Hell, I'm not even mad at John, the old rascal." His features softened a bit and a smile swept across his over tanned face. I probably would'a done the same for one-a my own. I won't harm yer little brother the next time I see him. Ya have my word."

Sam grabbed the corner of Dean's jacket. "Benefit of the doubt?"

Dean muttered an exasperated "pffff, yeah right, Sam. He sure as hell didn't give you the benefit of the doubt last night."

"You gotta admit, the first time you saw me have a vision, didn't it freak you out?"

"That's different, Sam. I'm your brother, and NO, it didn't freak me out. I was worried about you. It never crossed my mind to kill you….. at least not for that, anyways." Dean added with a half smile.

Sam rolled his eyes and returned the half smile.

"Ask him why he's here," Sam suggested sincerely.

Dean hesitated and then complied being moved by Sam's trusting nature and willingness to forgive, but determined that if he didn't like the answer, the discussion was over.

"What are you doing here?" Dean questioned sternly.

"Just checkin to be sure there ain't any nest folks associated with our vampire friend yesterday." He replied taking a step towards the porch, hands still open but more down at his side. "You and I both know they don't usually live alone. Probably a nest somewheres in the local area, don't ya think?"

"Makes sense, Dean." Sam whispered. Maybe he's being on the level. We could use some help hunting down the others. You've seen the list. There's too many to cover by ourselves."

"Hello! We have a much more pressing issue here to deal with, Sammy." Dean rasped between clenched teeth. "Vampires are second to that. Hell, everything is second to that. You know that." Dean hissed.

"How bout you?" Denton called back.

"s' why we're here." Dean responded. He shook his head and cursed himself silently for letting it slip that he wasn't alone and it was no stretch for the old hunter to conclude that Sam was with him.

"Well, then, seems we have something in common once again." Denton smiled at the double meaning his words held. Vampires and Sam. "What do you say we join together and search the area to be sure." The crafty old hunter innocently offered.

Dean muttered under his breath to Sam, "Thanks but no thanks."

"Why don't you check out the places south of town, we'll keep to the north." Dean called back loud enough to be heard his sarcasm driving home the obvious detail that they would be working at opposite ends of the county. He keenly watched every breath taken, move made, and eye motion the old hunter had to offer, waiting to see if he could read his intentions.

Denton shook his head and commented smugly. "As you wish. You're definitely John's boy, suspicious as hell and slow to forgive. Sure hope he's doing better where he is now."

His words met their mark stirring in Dean an impulse to go out and pummel the man. Sam's gentle hand on his shoulder steadied him and he refused to take it up with him.

"Easy," Sam whispered. "He's just trying to get the best of you."

"Guess I'll be on my way." The hunter slyly turned around figuring by now he had his prey in his hand, though fairly certain, the protector was unyielding. He began walking back on the left side of the gravel driveway towards his car with a cocky swagger.

"Not fast enough," muttered Dean ready to move on from this frustrating encounter. He was still suspicious as hell about Denton, but he was more worried about Sam and preventing the vision from becoming reality. He was damn sure he didn't need any distractions or additional problems coming from the now departing hunter. Dean still disliked the man, found him irritating and clearly sensed he was dangerous. He would definitely keep Sam away from him, that was a given.

"That was weird," Sam commented.

"Yeah."

"You think he's on the level?"

"mmm, not sure, but I don't want to find out the hard way. Stay clear of him, okay?"

"Well, at least he's leaving."

"Looks like." Dean replied.

He began to focus back on their situation and the house they were in. "Think we should bother to check out the upstairs and the basement, just to be sure?" Dean questioned all the while keeping an eye on the old hunter as he approached his truck parked just behind the Impalla. Dean was a surprised when the hunter reached out his hand to touch the Impala, then turned, smiled, and withdrew it.

"Huh," Sam and Dean uttered in unison when they saw Denton's gesture to not cause further trouble.

"Well, I'll be damned." Dean added.

_Trust- the old hunter thought, as he smiled back at Dean. The protector was beginning to question his instincts. Good. The hole was beginning to open up and Denton was calibrating the number of steps it would take before he could start worming through it. The preditor was making his moves towards the ultimate goal-check mating "the prey". "Like taking candy from a crocodile," he muttered under his breath, quite pleased with how the chess match was going. ._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Suggestions:** You may want to reread chapter 6 to get into the mood of this story and enjoy the whole chess theme. Chapters 6 and 7 were originally one chapter but were divided due to length. For those of you who don't have the time, I've summed up the important terms to help make this chapter more enjoyable._

_**Key terms to better understand the story line**_

_**Predator:** one who is characterized by taking things by force usually often causing harm/ Denton_

_**Protector:** one who shields another from harm/ Dean_

_**Prey:** a person or thing that falls victim to someone or something/ Sammy_

_**Chess**: a game of strategy where players alternate moves using various pieces with different abilities The goal is to capture your opponents king by eliminating all of his possible ways of escape…When this is accomplished, it is said that the king has been "checkmated." In this story, Sammy is the king. Dean acts as many of the chess pieces to protect the king. In this chapter, he is referred to as a rook or castle, which is a valuable piece that stands guard to protect the king and remove any threats to him._

_Hope this helps! Enjoy! _

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Chapter 7

The scheming hunter continued sauntering back to his truck, gloating over his brilliant chess playing skills. He tossed his hand up into the air, gesturing a goodbye to the boys, further adding to his facade.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean quipped sarcastically, all too glad the creep was finally leaving.

Dean turned his thoughts back to the house they had been checking out.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah"

"What do you say we finish up here, you know, check the basement and upstairs- see if you recognize anything, and then, if you're game, we can hit two more properties before dark?" Dean's eyes, still focused out the broken window, continued to follow the perplexing hunter as he folded his large frame into his vehicle and started to back out.

Sam grinned. He was relieved their encounter with Denton was over and he appreciated his brother's immediate focus back on the hunt and his tenacity to prevent his vision from becoming more than just that.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean glanced back at his younger brother, focusing particularly on the slight smile on his face.

"Thanks, man"

"For what?" Dean questioned, surprised at Sammy's timing for a caring, sharing kind of comment.

"You've really been there for me today, you know, with the vision and Denton; you always have my back."

"Yeah, well, it's easier than looking at your face, Sammy" Dean smiled his signature crooked smile which always elicited a snort from Sam.

"Yeah, right…" Sam snorted. "You should be thanking God you get to look at this face every day, man!"

"Oh, pl-ease" Dean harrumphed as he glanced sideways at Sam, "thanking God," he laughed shaking his head. He glanced back out the window as he secretly thought to himself…every day, little brother, every day.

Dean watched for a moment and then his body suddenly straightened, his attention became focused. "What the h…." Dean announced under his breath as he saw Denton stop his truck and step out. He wandered around the front of his vehicle and appeared to be scrutinizing something on the passenger side. It was impossible to see what he was checking because the Impala still obstructed his view.

Sam, already alerted by his brother's comment, attempted to step around Dean and take a look. Dean immediately grabbed his jacket and pulled him back where he wanted him, safely behind him. There was no way Dean was about to let his brother anywhere near the window or the scenario that was unfolding before him.

The annoyed old hunter slapped the hood of his truck. "DAMN IT!" He shook his head and looked back at Dean. "Tires flat!" he hollered.

"Crap!" Dean hissed, "I don't believe this!"

"Musta hit a nail or something on the way in here" Denton continued, "Don't suppose you have a tire iron I could use, cuz if you don't, I'm gonna be stuck here with ya til I can get one."

Dean's brows knitted together and his eyes grew suspiciously dark. He wanted to believe that the scruffy hunter was shooting straight from the hip, but his hunter instincts knew differently.

"Why wouldn't Denton have his own tire iron. The guy is on the road all the time hunting Vampires for God's sake!"

It was more a rhetorical question than anything else, but Dean was partially wanting Sam to come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation that would put his mind at ease.

The sly old hunter continued loudly, "Meant to get a new one when mine was stolen outta my truck, but you know how it is. Ya only think to get one when you're stuck in the middle of freakin nowhere with a damn flat!"

Denton began gliding the chess pieces slowly across the board in his mind as he shifted his strategy away from trust and in the direction fear. Only the protector's fear of losing his loved one would cause him to separate from the prey. If the protector was convinced that the predator was a threat to the prey, he would leave the prey in the house, alone… all the while thinking that his choice was going to secure the safety of him/it. The predator would then easily remove the protector from the board. When that happened, the fearless huntsman would make his move to checkmate the prey.

"Could be on the level," Sam offered as he looked questioningly at his brother.

"I don't like it!" Dean exclaimed out loud as fear began to well up inside him. All his instincts were telling him that this was wrong…the fact that Denton was out here in the first place, that he claimed he had a flat, that they were standing in one of the designated potential sites for Sam's vision. Dean's heart began to race.

"Seriously, man, maybe he's for real. I mean, maybe the guy just needs a tire iron." Sam innocently offered.

"Sam, you know the tire iron is locked in the trunk, right? I'd have to go out there and give it to him."

"Dean!" Denton yelled back again delighting in the hesitation of his opponent to make his move.

Dean swept his hand across his face. Everything inside of him was telling him to shoot Denton right there and then. He was tired of the old hunter and the possible threat he was to Sam. For all he knew, this was all a freakin' game. He just didn't like it. It felt all wrong. It was one thing to deal with Denton from inside the house where he felt he could better protect Sam and control what was going on, but outside would be a completely different situation – too many variables. However, if he didn't get the tire iron to Denton, he would be around longer and potentially be given more opportunity to pose a threat to Sam. If he did get the damn tire iron to him, he'd have to leave Sam alone in the house.

Dean figured since, at the moment, Denton posed more of a threat to Sam than being alone in a house which didn't seem to hold any perceivable threat did, he had only one choice to make.

"Stay here, Sam! Take this and aim it at the bastard's head. If he so much as blinks the wrong way, shoot him." Dean directed, passing his firearm to Sam who already had one of his own. Dean felt somehow that if Sam had two, maybe he would be even safer and he sure as hell didn't want to carry a firearm out to Denton that could be used on Sam if things didn't go right.

Sam held the two weapons up and looked surprisingly into the eyes of his older brother. "Dean, together?"

"Sam, I'm not taking you out there! He may appear to be on the level, but we don't know for sure." Dean's voice cracked as his emotions heightened. "At least, in here, you can protect yourself."

"Dean," Sam paused and then finally admitted, "I'd rather be with you. If I'm with you out there, at least I'm not …alone."

"Sam," Dean added sympathetically, knowing that 'alone' for Sam meant dying alone. His heart went out to the kid. "It's not like I want to leave you alone, Sammy," he said reassuringly, "it's just, we don't know how you end up alone.

"Dean"

"No, Sam! For all we know, we walk out 'together', Denton shoots me, then takes you and does God know what to you!" Dean cringed at his words as soon as he spoke him. His inner fears had just been spilled out, and judging by his little brother's reaction, had soaked into the fabric of his being.

"Sorry, Sammy, I didn't mean to….."

"Sokay," Sam added, feeling sorry for Dean and sorry for the mess they were in. He knew his brother was doing his best and what their father had trained him to do and he trusted his brother completely. Dean would never do or say anything to deliberately hurt him.

Sam began one more time to try and convince Dean to reconsider. "Dean, listen to me. I never saw Denton in my vision."

"Sam, you said it yourself; your dream was sketchy at best. No, you stay in here."

"Dean! What's it gonna be? Do I get the tire iron or not?" the seemingly impatient huntsman hollered once again though he was actually thrilled that his opponent was delaying. "Fear," the old man whispered, "his strategy was working". He could taste his victory and began calculating how many moves he thought it would be until the chess match ended.

Dean turned around and put his hand on the door knob ignoring his brother's plea.

"Dean, please, we work better side by….ahh!" Sam gasped as he put his hand to his head, the gun in his hand rested alongside his temple.

"What? What?" Dean questioned worriedly as he grabbed Sam by the upper arms.

"My head!"

Sam's eyes were squeeze tightly. The razor-sharp pain sliced through his skull as if it were a knife through butter, from top to bottom, fast, decisive, and over as quickly as it had begun.

Dean held on tightly to Sam, trying to steady his brother, desperately hoping that whatever it was, it would pass soon.

Worriedly, Dean questioned, "Is it the vision? Can you **see** anything?"

"Dean!" Denton yelled from outside trying to intimidate the protector and growing annoyed that he was taking so long to make his move. Part of the fun of chess, besides the strategy, is watching what your opponent will do and seeing if he fell into the trap you were planning. "You-got-a-tire-iron-or-not?" the obnoxious man asked slowly, over exaggerating every word.

Dean was always good at thinking on his feet. John had taught him well, more by example than anything else, but this situation seemed to have the potential of spiraling out of control and Sammy's life would be hanging in the balance if anything went wrong.

"Sam?"

Sam straightened a bit as his pained expression slowly began to disappear from his distressed young face.

"Sam!"

"Yeah" Sam answered back still trying to make sense of what had happened.

"You alright?"

"I think so." Sammy replied as he looked at Dean's concerned eyes.

"Did you **see **anything?"

"No, it wasn't a vision, exactly. But Dean," Sam paused, "something is wrong here, in this house. I know it doesn't make sense, but this is somehow familiar."

"Familiar as in _vision_ familiar **or** _I've seen a broken window like that one before_ familiar?"

"Vision familiar" Sam stated fearfully as he searched his brother's eyes for hope.

Sam's words terrified Dean as he jumped into full hunter mode. His heart skipped a beat as adrenaline pumped forcefully into his blood stream and coursed through his veins. He knew he needed to get Sam out of the house, and now! He didn't like this at all. Sam's vision was about to become a reality. He could feel it. What he couldn't tell was whether Denton was the threat or whether there was something else going on. Always before, Sammy's visions had seemed to be related to the demon or the special children like Sam. None of this made sense to Dean. Still, it was clear he had to get Sam out of that house. Dean was a good hunter, faster than Denton, but less experienced. If Denton tried anything, Dean was pretty sure he could take him, but if not there would be enough time for Sam to, and that was all that mattered to Dean. Sam had never actually killed a person before. Dean had always protected his little brother from that nightmare. But, if Sammy had to endure it, Dean was confident that in the circumstances of protecting Dean's life, Sammy would eventually come to terms with it.

Dean grabbed his younger brother's sleeve and pulled him directly behind himself. "Let's go. You stay right behind me and do WHATEVER it takes to defend yourself! You hear me! WHATEVER IT TAKES."

Dean and Sam immediately exited the house, staying close together, hugging the right side of the driveway while keeping the Impala between them and the bent over hunter should they need to protect themselves. Sam was scared. He knew fear was sometimes a good thing. It keeps you alert, ready to do what it takes, but it also can be a bad thing. It can confuse, distract, and paralyze. Sam was scared and the fear welling up inside of him was not the helpful kind. Dean was holding it together right now, he was good at that, using his fears the right way and for that he was grateful. One good thing, there was no sign of the sharp pain he had experienced moments earlier inside the farmhouse. That thought offered Sam some relief.

Dean, being on full alert was taking in the house behind them as it was a potential threat to Sam, Sam himself, who seemed to have recovered from whatever the hell had happened but was obviously frightened, and the perplexing hunter that lay crouched before them.

To the average observer, the aged hunter crouched behind his wheel, didn't seem to notice that the brothers were approaching, but to the trained one, it was obvious he was pleased with how things were going by the glint in his eye. The old hunter was a bit surprised that the protector's fear hadn't driven him to separate from the prey, in a futile effort to keep him/it safe. If anything, fear had cemented them together. Still, these were John's boys, well at least one of them was. The youngest was clearly a "supernatural, but the oldest, though misguided, was still smart, well trained in the skills of hunting and protecting the prey. Enjoying the challenge of his opponents unexpected move, Denton began recalculating, formulating his next strategy based on his years of hunting experience. He reasoned that separating John's boys would no longer be an effective strategy. It was obvious; the protector had no intention of leaving the prey, just as a faithful rook stands guard near his king ready to remove any threat. Instead, he decided to continue working on trust. The prey seemed to be attracted to the lure. Maybe use their being together against them, yes, use the protector to close in on the prey. Use fear and love as his arsenal to remove the protector and capture his prey. "Soon, very soon," the demented rogue whispered to himself as an evil smirk crossed his scruffy face.

Dean and Sam advanced towards the hunter and his supposedly disabled vehicle.

"All be damned," Dean quipped in a soft tone so that only Sam could hear. Sam and Dean could see the flat just as Denton had said. Dean made his way to his trunk, keeping his back to the car, his eye keenly trained on Denton. The threat of the house seemed more distant and the threat before them seemed to be dissolving. Sam followed at a safe distance with both weapons in his hands, tucked safely inside his jacket ready to fire if needed, though Sam was feeling like there might be no need. He had no strange vibes in regards to the old man and, if anything, had begun warming up to him again much to his surprise. If Dad could work with him and trust him, he can't be all that bad, Sam reasoned. Still, Dean was nervous, so he kept his watch.

Dean unlocked the trunk and grabbed the tire iron cautiously, realizing he would be placing a potential weapon in Denton's bare hands.

_Fear. Good. Dean reeked of it (the wicked hunter reasoned inside the demented walls of his mind) The game was playing out nicely. _

"Thanks," Denton rasped as he grabbed the tire iron from Dean, winked at Sam, and began working on the lug nuts. "Have a little trouble remembering where you stored your tire iron, Dean?" he questioned sarcastically attempting to humor and disarm the boys.

Dean contemplated grabbing a few extra weapons from the trunk, but didn't want to initiate a problem where one supposedly didn't exist. He slowly closed the trunk and began to step back to a safer position where Sam was, putting his baby in between the hunter and himself and himself between the seasoned hunter and Sam.

_Fear, love, and trust…Fear of losing a brother, love, a blinding handicap, and trust soon to be broken…the trap was set, the protector clearly confused, if not once again questioning his instincts, the prey clearly defenseless. The depraved hunter could taste his victory already._

A smile streaked eerily across the creepy hunter's somewhat wrinkled face. "It'll only take a minute," Denton stated, huffing and puffing as if out of breath from loosening the nuts which had apparently rusted into place by the obvious effort they were requiring. Wanna give me a hand…………. Sam?" the hunter asked boldly.

Dean's heart skipped a beat and then began thumping painfully inside his chest when he heard the despised hunter specifically request Sam's help. In the split second it took for Dean's heart to slam against the wall of his chest, the devious hunter had duck behind his truck and fired something in the boys' direction. Dean felt something whiz past the left side of his head and hit its mark. Sam exhaled loudly with an "oooff" and attempted to grab onto Dean as he was thrown backward. He slurred his brother's name out loud and then crumpled helplessly to the ground.

Dean was pulled off balance by Sam's attempt to grab for his older brother's help. Before he had a chance to recover, he felt a sharp sting in the side of his neck. His vision began to blur as he watched his brother twitch a bit on the ground before becoming frightening still, blood forming where a small dart could be seen barely breaking the skin just below his jaw line.

"Shhiiitt," Dean slurred, as his mind began clouding and his body started to give way beneath him. "Ssaaamm?"

Dean tried to turn around to see where the malicious hunter was, but lost his battle with gravity before he crumpled on top of his helpless brother.

The malevolent huntsman arrogantly sauntered over to Dean and kicked him over with his hiking boot, stained red in spots by the years of blood that had been spilled on it.

Dean's drugged eyes slowly opened. He willed his debilitated body to move as he had done so often done in the past when his brother was in danger, but it refused, rebelling against his command.

Denton stared directly into his eyes and smirked eerily before glancing at Sam's vulnerable body sprawled out beside him. He looked at the prey, a disgusted look of disdain shadowed across the immoral predator's face. Then gazed back at the protector and gave a toothy, satisfied look.

"Check" he taunted between satisfied lips.

"You basstarrdd", Dean slurred, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

_ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ_

**To get you thinking**…..Whew! Tough chess game, huh? Our boys had some trouble playing because they didn't know who the opposing King was. Now, they clearly recognize it is Denton, but is it too late?

Special thanks goes out to all my wonderful reviewers! You guys have truly been awesome and inspire me to continue. I've tried to incorporate some of the things you enjoy into this ongoing story. Let me know what you think!-Rachelly


	8. Chapter 8

Check: A term used in chess when a player has placed his piece in such a way as to threaten his opponent's king.

Chapter 8

Dean awoke to the sound of crickets chirping as dusk lay heavily along the treetops. He had a wicked headache and his vision was far from being useful. He had no idea how long he'd been out. The night was fast approaching so it must have been at least five or six hours, maybe more. Dean lay on the ground slowly regaining his ability to move his limbs while he became acutely aware of his surroundings.

"What the f… ?"

He was somewhere in the middle of nowhere in what looked like a forest, trees everywhere, uneven land, lots of dead trunks, scattered foliage and dirt.

"Sammy, you here?" Dean called out as he attempted to rise.

Dean's memory began to return to him, though his limbs were sadly lagging. He remembered Denton's ominous call to Sam for help, the sound of his little brother exhaling loudly, the feel of Sam tugging desperately on his leather jacket, the fall….and…Denton's cruel words as he hovered over him... "check" the bastard had declared.

"SAM!" he frantically hollered scanning the area for his fallen brother, frightening a pair of crows from their perch high above him.

Dean listened for a moment, straining to hear something- a moan, a cough, his name, anything to indicate his brother's presence. The only response was a chorus of bull frogs and the hoot of an owl, a Great Horned owl by the sound of it.

Having now regained the full use of his body, Dean began frantically searching the immediate area. God only knows what Denton had done to his little brother. He could be lying somewhere close by bleeding to death, unconscious or too injured to respond.

Hundreds of tree stumps later, after anxiously searching the surrounding woodlands calling his brother's name over and over again, Dean was gripped by an overwhelming reality…Sam wasn't there. He could only guess where his little brother was but he knew with whom.

"I'll KILL THE BASTARD when I get my hands on him." Dean shouted into the darkening forest.

Anger bubbled up from the depths of his being as he kicked the knotted tree that towered stoically beside him, ripping off its lowest branch and hurling it at the image of Denton he had projected on a distant tree stump. The limb smacked the stump's bark causing it to crumble silently to the ground.

Fear and anger began to slowly dissolve into despair. Suddenly overwhelmed by his grief, Dean fell down to his knees which sunk easily into the soft earthen floor of the forest and buried his anguished head in his hands. Tears started to fall as despair overtook the young, defeated hunter. The truth of the moment was almost too painful. He had no idea where Sam was, hell, where _he_ was for that fact, or how far he was from his little brother to even begin to try to help him.

"Oh God, Sammy," he whispered. Dean couldn't fight the feeling that he had somehow messed up and that his little brother was paying the price. "I'm sorry, man" the broken warrior lamented.

For a moment, it seemed as if forest offered up a moment of silence in sympathy for its new inhabitant and the despair which had overcome him.

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Sam awoke to the sound of steel rubbing against steel. It was a sharp metallic sound that slowly stirred him back to consciousness. As he raised his head, he became aware that he was hanging, cruelly suspended from the ceiling, in the middle of a dimly lit basement that was musty and smelled rank.

His mind was still foggy as he began to look around to determine the origin of the sound. It didn't take long for his eyes to fix upon a figure standing back in the shadows, making motions that were difficult to see. His eyes strained to make out the menacing figure and, as if responding to a question Sam never asked, the figure moved out into the dim light. Denton. He stood before Sam, sharpening a blade that he held proudly in his hand. Slowly, he drew the blade across the steel pole, back and forth, up and down look intently at Sam with a deranged expression on his sun darkened face.

"scriiiiiiiiiiitch….scraaaaaaatch…..scriiiiiiiitch….scraaaaaatch" The sound was ominous, spelling out Sam's impending doom.

The disturbed hunter continued sharpening his beloved knife as he took pleasure in watching Sam's anxiety levels increase. The tension in the cellar was overpowering as neither of them spoke and the blade drummed out its threatening tune.

Sam's eyes took in the room around him. Judging by the spider webs and dusty residue, the place hadn't seen the likes of man for quite some time. He couldn't make out all the details of the corners and under the steps because they were partially hidden in the darkness, but it was obvious he was alone with Denton. Dean was no where to be seen.

Unable to remain silent anymore, the youngest Winchester, vulnerable to the whims of his frightening captor as he hung mercilessly shackled and unable to defend himself, dared to speak, not knowing if doing so would provoke the daunting huntsman into action.

"Where's my brother?" Sam questioned hesitatingly as he glanced up at his demoralizing captor.

"Protector, you insolent bastard!" he commandingly corrected his prey. His frigid demeanor was eerily frightening. The thought of the prey considering the protector a brother, disgusted him.

"What?" Sam whispered, confused by the response. His fear for his older brother was growing and he pressed on.

"WHERE'S MY BROTHER!" he demanded.

The blade droned out its threatening tune, " scriiiiiiiiiiiitch…scraaaaaaaaaaaaaatch …scriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch…..scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch…" and then it suddenly stopped.

"You **_have_ **no brother," the calculating chessman remarked in a revolted way.

"What does that mean?" Sam questioned fearfully.

The answer Denton had given was vague and Sam was terrified that the deranged huntsman lurking before him had murdered his brother. "Oh God" Sam mouthed silently "Dean". The thought horrified Sam and he could feel his eyes start to sting as they began to tear up, his strength began to drain from his dangling body.

The malicious huntsman sneered eerily as he relentlessly honed his blade into a more lethal weapon, moving it more slowly and loudly, allowing his silence and its blood curdling sound to further terrify his prey.

"What the **hell **does that mean; I have no brother!" Sam demanded as his fear gave way to anger. He wanted to know, no, he needed to know what had happened to Dean.

Sam shifted uneasily and looked up at his hands, helplessly restrained above him. His eyes began desperately searching for some way to free himself from this menacing predicament and find his brother.

The spiteful hunter slowly looked up and suspended his repetitive motion. "You **_never_** did," he retorted callously.

Confused, frustrated and scared for his brother, Sam desperately questioned, "Is he alive?" fearing the answer that might follow.

Denton suspended his sharpening, looked calculatingly at his watch, and cruelly replied, "For _five _more minutes".

Panic gripped Sam as he began yanking relentlessly at his chains trying to free himself.

"WHERE IS HE" Sam growled through clenched teeth.

Denton continued his sharpening tune as he drew his blade more slowly across the steel pole adding a tension to the air that was suffocating. He once again glanced down at his leather strapped watch and then vindictively held up four fingers out in front of his oversized body. He fed off the fear building inside of his prey; he could smell it, feel it filling the air around them, it was exhilarating.

"What have you done to him?" Sam question as he probed Denton's heartless eyes.

He'd played Poker many times before, hell, Dean had taught him everything he knew and he'd seen his brother masterfully play. Dean always said that Sam was good at it because he could read people. He studied Denton's eyes trying to see if the cold-blooded hunter was bluffing. If he was, he was very skilled at it because at the moment, Sam couldn't detect a bluff.

When he got no response, he questioned worriedly, "What do you want with me?"

The only reply he got was the slow scritch scratch of steel against steel. The scheming hunter smiled his toothy smile and asked Sam, "You play chess?"

Sam was surprised by the question. He was tempted not to answer, suspecting a hidden agenda behind it; something was going on behind those calculating eyes. Sam decided to lay down his fears which were clouding his thinking and let his hunter instincts take over. His first thought… draw the manipulative monster out of the shadows where he was lurking; draw him in closer, close enough to make his move. The depraved huntsman had already moved just within reach according to Sam's calculations…. one more step should definitely do it.

Sam began his attempt to draw Denton in. "I prefer poker, actually, but I _can_ play chess" he replied carefully, looking to see if he'd gotten a reaction.

Denton noticed a change in his prey's demeanor….It wasn't the fearful creature it had been moments earlier. No, it was…..calculating its next move? It was recognizing the game and was trying to play… _interesting, very interesting_…The devious huntsman needed to force the 'king' back into his corner, remove whatever options he seemed to think he had on this evolving chessboard. Fear, the cruel chessman considered. He needed to confuse the prey with fear.

"_Three _minutes" the hunter bluntly declared beginning his tormenting blade sharpening dirge, this time, even more slowly than before, all the while admiring the growing sharpness of the weapon's edge. He hadn't moved forward as Sam had hoped, and it appeared as if he might take a step back.

Sam began tugging frantically on his chains. Fearing he might lose the only opportunity he might have, he grabbed hold of the chains connected to the shackles that bound his wrists and raised himself up while thrusting his long legs out striking the unsuspecting predator in the chest. The hunter stumbled backwards towards the unforgiving floor while the knife, knocked from his calloused hand, dropped noisily beneath him.

It was an unexpected move, daring at best, but ineffective none the less, causing little to change Sam's situation and potentially angering his captor. Denton righted himself before hitting the floor, the blade which would have been sandwiched between the huntsman and the floor never met its mark. The amused chessman delighted in the tenacity of his prey.

"Nice move," he chided, "not very effective, but refreshingly unexpected."

He was impressed; he hadn't seen this side of his prey before. The malicious hunter leaned over, picked up his blade, polished it a bit with his coffee stained shirt, and began sharpening it once again, the scritch scratch of the blade driving home the point that nothing, absolutely nothing had changed. The prey was going to be checkmated eventually and there would be nothing to prevent it.

"Guess it's my move….." he said, glancing at his watch, "…in _one_ minute" he continued, looking at Sam with his cold, unfeeling eyes.

Sam's heart began racing. "If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you!" he threatened in a deeply panicked voice while he tugged furiously at his chains. His hunting resolve had quickly dissolved at the mention of his brother's demise.

Sam's eyes widened in absolute fear as the hunter slowly raised his arm, tauntingly to look at his watch.

He smiled evilly at Sam and in a sarcastic voice said, "Aww, you're too late. The protector has been removed from the board."

"You **_sick _son of a bitch**!" Sam cried out as tears welled up in his eyes.

The thought of Dean being dead sucked the air out of Sam's lungs. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. His world began collapsing around him. Gasping, he struggled to regain his resolve, but his grief was too overwhelming. "He can't be dead…" Sam replied softly. He looked pitifully up at Denton, longing for the man to tell him it wasn't so.

The deranged predator was quite pleased at how this chess match was going. The king was feeling cornered, helpless, fearing his army was defeated and sensing his demise. He smirked and returned to the blade sharpening he had discontinued for a bit. He stared back at his prey with an arrogant smile.

Sam sensed something when he looked into the huntsman's eyes. His poker face was good, but not unreadable this time and Sammy could tell that Dean _wasn't_ dead. Denton had probably hidden him somewhere…but…. Dean _wasn't _dead!

Denton was taken aback. The prey was reading the predator, studying him, searching for his weaknesses. He was clearly disarmed by the scan. The prey had just robbed the predator of his thoughts, understood the strategy he was using, and knew that he was bluffing.

Relief washed over Sam as he exhaled loudly. Dean was okay, he could feel it. For some reason, the killer standing before him had spared his brother's life. Nothing mattered now. Denton could do whatever he wanted to Sam and he could find courage in knowing that his brother was alive.

Denton, trying to regain control of the board, to re-instill fear back into the prey, knew there was only one way to do it. He began sharpening the blade again. He touched the point and recoiled quickly as blood began to well up on his finger. He put it to his lips, sucked on it, and grinned maliciously back at his "Supernatural". The blade was finished.

Sam, seriously uncomfortable with what he feared was coming soon, continued. "What are you going to do with me?"

"**What John _should _have done with you the day you were born!**" the sick hunter barked.

Sam's eyes flew wide open. He knew the hunter intended to kill him. "Why!" he demanded. "Why the games? Why me? Is it just because I have visions? Does that make me so evil?"

"**You…**" the mad hunter shook his head. With absolute hatred he bellowed out his words dripping with revulsion and malice, **" You are an abomination!** **Pure evil! How dare you ask 'why me'! **

The old hunter paused, clearly finding himself tipping over the edge. The king, without any other chess pieces on the board to assist him, had momentarily cornered his oponent, turning his calculating mind into a mess of anger. He suddenly became eerily quiet and then calmly and callously whispered, "_You_ must be _destroyed._"

Before he finished his sentencing, the vicious huntsman had flung the newly sharpened blade directly at Sam. The young, defenseless man saw it happen as if in slow motion. The knife left Denton's hand, its blade honed to a deadly sharpness, its tip a perfect point, and carved through the air with expert precision. Sam defensively twisted in a futile attempt to move out of its path. It hit slightly to the right of his ribcage and sank deep into Sam's flesh, slicing through layers of tissue that hung on his lanky frame.

The pain was unimaginable. Just as lightening shatters a midnight sky, sending fingers of light off in many directions, the pain shattered his body and splintered out to the very ends of his being. Sam gasped as the blade seared into his chest, slicing through skin and muscle, finding its resting place along side a bone. He glanced down, shocked to see the knife's handle protruding from his pain filled body, which now started to leak his crimson blood down the side of his shirt. He glanced back up at the cold-blooded killer standing before him, stunned, anguish leaking from his eyes.

Denton grinned as he sauntered up to Sam's helpless body. "You _must_ be destroyed," he reiterated, "…but not before you are punished for _what you are_ and _what you would have done_ if allowed to exist." With that, Denton grasped the handle, jutting out from Sam's torso, cruelly twisted it and yanked it out.

Sam's eyes began to tear from the pain before it built to a level that he could no longer manage. He cried out, and then gasped, trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving, and his body uncontrollably shivering, he gradually slid into unconsciousness.

The vindictive hunter seemed unfazed by his prey's loss of consciousness. He began to tremble with hatred again and proclaimed, with malice in his voice, only inches from the unaware young hunter's face, " I'll make an example out of you...," he continued, " a message,that abominations like you will not be allowed to prey on the innocent anymore."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The depraved hunter was feeling quite pleased with himself. He had outwitted John's boys, two experienced hunters trained under the master. He'd skillfully disabled both of them, stranding one, drugged in the woods over an hour to the north with little hope of returning until the morning when it would be too late. The other hung helplessly before him from a wooden beam, chained like an animal from his wrists. His shirt barely clung to his body having been shredded by the whippings and "blood lettings" that had carried on throughout the dark hours of the night. If it wasn't for the stickiness of the drying blood on his damaged chest and back, the tattered shirt would have fallen to the basement floor hours earlier. Instead, the pieces appeared glued to the bruised and battered young hunter whose breathing was labored at best.

Denton waited eagerly for his captured "_Supernatural_" to wake up only so he could torment him and beat him once again. He didn't care to interact with Sam anymore, at least not yet. He just continued to mercilessly punish Sam over and over again. His hatred of those he labeled "_supernatural_" driving him deeper and deeper into the dark corners of his demented mind. He was a fuse just waiting to be lit and for some reason, Sam was the match.

The aged hunter glanced at the weapons he had collected from his truck as they lay out before him on an old wooden bench that had been left in the dank basement of the old dilapidated house that barely stood above them. The spread out arsenal almost looked like a surgeon's tray during a serious operation. Many of them weapons were smeared with blood, Sam's blood.

Denton hovered over each "tool", caressing it, reminiscing about all the blood it had spilled and been bathed in from the past. His calloused hands delighted in the fact that they were now stained with the liquid life of the "_supernatural_" who had masqueraded as an innocent, protected as if something human, worthy of love and worth defending. In reality, _it _was merely a king, righteously captured in a treacherous game of chess masterfully played by the immoral huntsman. In the end, all the _prey_ would be was another notch on the predator's supernatural belt. It would be his 250th kill, one which would long be remembered and clearly celebrated for years to come. Each tool should be allowed to participate one last time, to experience again the living liquid of this "supernatural" for its faithfulness in service over the years in extinguishing the world of evil.

Sam, who had suffered mercilessly at the immoral hand of his captor, drifted in and out of consciousness. For brief moments, he'd awaken, often drawn out from oblivion by the cruel taunting of the demented predator who victimized him relentlessly. He'd be aroused enough to be cognizant of his situation, which played out mostly in pieces before him, only to be mercilessly beaten, punished into unconsciousness shortly after. He was aware of a familiar voice uttering menacing words about freaks and "_Supernaturals_" before the pain would become unbearable and he would return to the oblivion he had escaped from moments earlier. It was much like his vision, sketchy at best and holding no hope of escape; its ending, dying...alone. Sam would have found comfort in thinking of Dean, but he was never given the chance to think. Only pain and darkness, darkness and pain, and blood, Oh God, a lot of blood.

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Back to the forest...

Having expelled some of the emotional tension that had momentarily paralyzed him when he had grasped his little brother's desperate situation, Dean took a deep breath. He swept his hand across his tear soaked face and struggled to regain his composure. He knew if he were to be any help to his younger sibling, he needed to be clear minded.

His knees, which had become one with the pine needles crushed beneath them, began to beg for some relief. Obliging, Dean rose to his feet and started pacing, back and forth before the knotted tree he had attacked only moments before. His mind, clearer now, began to try to sort out how the hell they had ended up in this mess.

The forest was a captive audience observing the unusual young man as he carried on a conversation with himself. If one could "read" a tree, you would have sworn that it feared for the safety of its other limbs.

"How the _hell_ did things get so damned _screwed _up?" Dean shouted angrily picking up a pine cone and hurling it several yards out.

"Denton, ….that evil son of a bitch! He played us all along, slowly, methodically, baiting and reeling us in…… We were freakin _hunted _by the God damn hunter!"

"_Damn it_" Dean hollered loudly, his words quickly lost in the denseness of the wooded area he had been so rudely dumped in.

"That _screwed_ up bastard!"

"I knew it! He _never intended _to let it go, to accept Sam as_…_ 'Sam'".

Dean fisted his hands in his hair as tears threatened to make an appearance. He knew he was Sammy's only hope in this wicked game he and his little brother had been so cruelly forced to play. He felt like he had been a pawn, moved across the board by a master chessman, unable to control his own destiny, and in the end, expendable. He had been discarded as being insignificant…..It was the chessman's ultimate mistake.

"**This game is not over yet!**" Dean shouted angrily at the hunter wherever he was,"**You better pray Sam is _alive_ and _well_ or,so help me God, you will _curse_ the day you were born!"**

Dean's warrior heart began to awaken from deep within him. He was a soldier, full of courage and conviction, well trained in both the strategies of a hunt as well as the weaponry, righteous in his endeavors to rid the world of the evil that lurked cruelly preying on those who are innocent, dedicated even unto death should it be required of him. Based on his abilities, Sam had been tried and convicted of being a "_Supernatural_", a creature Denton had defined as being everything evil, but in reality, Denton, possessing no extraordinary gifts or abilities of his own, was the "_Supernatural_" . He had become the very thing he detested, the very thing he hunted… evil himself, having mercilessly preyed on the innocent-Sam. He had stalked him, tortured him with fear using his trusting nature against him and was now planning to execute him if his threat were true. Dean faltered for a moment as he considered that it might have already happened, but he forced the thought out of his head; his dad had worked hard to teach the boys how to imprison those fears that paralyze and he regained his strength, his focus.

Dean began searching for his cell phone. It wasn't long before he realized Denton must have taken it. While panic would have easily overtaken the average person lost in the woods, Dean became even more focused. The hunter in him began listening, taking in all the sounds that dared to express themselves around him, searching for anything that seemed out of place.

In a matter of minutes, he was able to make out the soft swoosh of a car passing by on a distant road. He was surprised he hadn't noticed the sound earlier. Whether his dispair had kept him inwardly focused earlier causing him to miss the almost imperceptible sound, or whether a vehicle hadn't yet passed by this remote area that he had found himself in, it really didn't matter. A car, moving at that speed, meant there was a road nearby, probably paved by the sound of the tires as they rolled across its surface. If there was a road, there was a place it could take you to, a place to find help.

Dean made his first move as he entered back into the chess game he had been so violently forced to play. Yes, the king was in check, as the creepy hunter had made clear moments before Dean had lost consciousness, but there was still a key player on the board-Dean.

He immediately headed off in the direction of the road. He began planning his next move as he hiked through the peaceful woodland. No longer did it scare him, instead it offered a tranquility that helped him focus even more. First he would get his car to find Sam and get him help if he needed it and then … he would hunt down Denton and kill the son of a bitch.

It wasn't long before Dean reached the single lane highway that offered no information to help him get his bearings. It was dark, really dark and it was unlikely that anyone would be traveling this road so late at night or early in the morning. Dean glanced up and down the road with moonlight as his only source of illumination. He had two choices… to wait by the roadside until a car came which would strand Sam with Denton for much longer than was tolerable or to choose a direction and hoof it. Dean chose the later and using the moon to give him his bearings, he headed south.

Within an hour, a vehicle could be heard rumbling in the distance. It was coming from behind him which meant it was heading in a southerly direction. A perky trucker, looking for some light conversation, spotted the weary runner, and, when he turned to hitch a ride, obliged.

Despair attempted to worm its way back into Dean's heart when he discovered, much to his dismay, that he was at least an hour north of the decrepit farmhouse that had been such a death trap. The over-caffeinated trucker, sensing his passenger's anguish, offered to get him within a few miles of his target and Dean gratefully accepted the assistance.

Once seated in the truck, Dean attempted to small talk with his energetic chauffer who had obviously been alone in his truck for far too long, chugging down coffee like it was water, but his mind was elsewhere. He decided to close his eyes and pretend to sleep. The trucker, though disappointed that he'd lost his audience, allowed his weary traveler the quiet that he needed.

All Dean could think about as the truck glided along the seeming unending highway was the conversation he and Sam had shared regarding his vision and his dying alone. It began to replay in his mind……..

"_Wanna talk about it? _

"_Denton?"_

"_I was thinking of the vision."_

"_It was a bit interrupted, Dean, but it was weird."_

"_Weird, how?"_

"_I was in it."_

"_Well, that's new. What were you doing?"_

"_Dying…"_

"_Was I with you or were you alone?'_

"_Alone"_

Alone ... The word just hung in Dean's mind as he remembered his little brother's voice when he spoke it. It had sounded frightened, but also sad. He could still see Sam's gentle eyes looking at him, searching for some sort of comfort, reassurance that it would never happen, that somehow, his big brother would keep him safe, that he wouldn't die alone.

Guilt began to rise from somewhere in his stomach, passing through his chest, squeezing behind his heart as it chocked the air from his lungs. Sam's vision had always been about Denton and he hated himself for not realizing it sooner. Sam was his responsibility; he always looked after the kid. How could he have let this happen?

He should have killed Denton the first night at the warehouse when he had clearly declared war on Sam. But that was Denton's way, not Dean's. Dad had taught him the value of human life, all human life, something Denton had clearly no comprehension of. Dean had given the man the benefit of the doubt, lived by the values instilled in him, but this time those very values, guidelines if you will, had not applied and his brother's life might be the price.

Dean couldn't help but wonder if the path Denton had taken was inevitable in their line of work. Can anyone really stay sane doing what they do their whole lives. Dad did. The thought comforted Dean a bit. Dad hadn't gotten lost in the abyss of insanity. Sure he was dedicated, sometimes, overly so to get the damn demon that had taken his wife and continued to be a threat to his youngest son, but he never crossed the line that Denton had. Denton was clearly demented and Sam? Sam was probably dying at the hand of the deranged hunter at that very moment. Dean had seen what the hunter was capable of and he knew that Sam was suffering at the hands of a madman.

The drizzle of the rain on the oversized windshield of the truck seemed to mock him; its slow rhythm reminding him, minute by minute, of just how long it was taking to get back to his little brother, back to Sammy.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dean was surprised at how quickly the sun came up boldly declaring the start of a new day and the close of a long night. It had been just that, a long night…. a night of wondering, fear, and desperation…a night of refocus, resolve, and strategy. The rain, which had mocked him less than an hour earlier, had stopped. The cloud from which it had fallen had lost its battle with the sun and unhappily moved on.

His caffeinated "cabbie", oblivious to what lay ahead for the newly focused warrior, stopped his truck when directed, waved cheerily, and said, "Have a great day!"

Normally Dean would have told him what to do with himself, but he was already off to a dead run long before the words "great day" had even been spoken. He was a warrior, ready for battle, strong and confident, fully armed with conviction and commitment; a soldier, fully prepared for the war that lay ahead, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice should it be required of him. His compass….steady, Sam is his North; his cause …righteous, his direction… unswerving; his loyalty… to his brother and his brother alone; his conviction- to _kill_ Denton. He had let the son of a bitch go once before, a mistake he would never make again!

Dean wondered if Sam would try to stop him, try to reason with him as he had so many times in the past. With Max, he had wanted to save the troubled youth, to stop him from using his powers to kill. Dean was ready to eliminate him but Sam, placing his own life on the line, had persuaded him differently. Then there was Roy Le Grange, the faith healer. When Dean had decided that the minister was using a reaper to do his "work", he had told Sam they needed to end him, although, if Dean were honest with himself, he would admit that he secretly hoped Sam would have a solution to resolve the problem without killing and of course, Sammy did…to break the binding spell which trapped the reaper. Finally, there was Meg. Hell, Sam even questioned Dean about finishing the exorcism of Meg when he knew she would probably die. Always, his little brother had chosen life. Dean had admired and respected him for that. Truth was, he loved Sam's trusting and caring nature, always believing the best in people, always looking for ways to solve the problem and save the life. Dean couldn't help but wonder if Sam would feel the same way now and whether, if he did, Dean would be able to oblige him.

Moments later, Dean reached the end of the grove of trees that had bordered the property near the farmhouse. The grassy acreage once again spread out before him. He quickly ducked back, crouching behind a large tree on the corner to asses the situation. The soldier in him wasn't about to engage without surveillance.

The Impala was still sitting in the driveway to Dean's relief. He had hoped that Denton's truck might still be there though he wasn't sure why it would be. The depraved huntsman had probably taken Sam somewhere remote. Dean thought of all the properties that had been on the list the county cleric had given them. Sam could be at any one of them.

His mind began to run through the possibilities. He could start by heading back to the first one they had seen and then proceed by going through them one by one. That would take forever and forever is exactly what he didn't have. Instead, he decided to start with the ones he and Sam hadn't checked out yet, since his brother hadn't recognized any of the others they had already seen.

Dean worked his way to the driveway and paused where Denton's truck had been. The tire tracks still remained, sunken in the gravel holding the memory of the flat tire and the trickery that had accompanied it. The warrior paused for a brief second offering up a moment of silence for the tragedy that had occurred there when a civilian had been victimized by a war he did not belong in; neither of them did.

He continued on up to the passenger side of the Impala as he began searching his pocket for his keys. Dean was glad he had been driving so that his little brother didn't have them.

"Crap!" he exclaimed when he discovered that just like the cell phone, they were gone too. "Denton! You son of a bitch!" he cursed as he slapped the top of his car with his hand.

"Great! That's just great!" Dean grumbled. "Can this day get any more** screwed up**?" he yelled to the wide open field that just mocked him with its silence. Denton was even more calculating than he had thought. He glanced into the front passenger seat and was glad to see that at least the property lists were still there. Apparently, Denton hadn't thought to remove them; He could begin his search immediately, that is, after he had hot wired his car.

Circling around to the driver's side, he stopped abruptly. He could see the image of his fallen brother imprinted on the gravel next to his car and he painfully relived the dreadful moments of the previous morning as they played out before him in his mind… Denton's bold request for Sammy's help, the gasp, the fall… It all replayed in Dean's head and he felt sick.

He glanced down fearful he might see his brother's blood seeping through the gravel to the dirt below, but there was none, to his relief. Instead, he noticed stones scattered off the driveway and, upon closer examination, trails amongst the grasses …drag marks he presumed. He studied them briefly and noted one set crossed behind the Impala's trunk and over to where the passenger door would have been on Denton's truck. That trail had to be his.

Oddly, the second set went towards the front of the Impala. Dean followed, seeing it cross in front and head towards the porch. Denton had dragged Sam…._ into the house. _He cursed himself for not having considered this. Sam had said that something about the house was familiar. It was what had caused them to exit so hastily in the first place; what had driven them out to where Denton lay in wait.

Immediately, Dean's hunting instincts kicked in and took over. He ran for the trunk to grab the weapons needed to breech the house and eliminate any threat that lie therein …to rescue Sam.

"Damn" he cursed when he remembered he had no keys. Knowing time was everything, he rushed back to the car, flung open the unlocked door, and lunged for the glove compartment. Lying uselessly inside was an unloaded Colt .45 . Sam didn't like to leave the loaded weapon where someone else could find it. It was a safety thing, although, right now he was cursing his little brother's safety conscious side. It was Sam's gun and he always carried the bullets in his left jean pocket. Only problem was, Sam's pocket wasn't here and Dean wasn't carrying. He considered the situation quickly and opted to take the unloaded weapon anyways. He could always use it as a bluff in a tight spot. Then, he bolted towards the house.

The cautious young hunter stopped just short of the creaky first step and, with stealth-like movements, he silently stepped up into the house avoiding any obviously broken boards. Barely breathing, he moved swiftly through the first floor aware that his little brother was not shadowing behind him as he always was, at least since they had resumed hunting together. Dean only hoped that Sammy would join him there once again… soon. After finishing his inspection, he determined that the first floor was 'clear'; there was no sign of Denton or Sam.

Deftly, the trained soldier headed to the second floor being careful to avoid the upper steps which had given way the day before. An occasional creak underfoot caused Dean to pause and listen before continuing with expert swiftness. Moments later it was obvious, the second floor was clear.

Dean suddenly remembered the trouble Sam had in determining if the vision was at night or in the day. "The basement," Dean mouthed as he stiffened his lower lip, frustrated that he hadn't started there in the first place. As he made his way back through the house towards the cellar, his heart began recklessly beating against the wall of his chest. He only hoped he'd be arriving in time to save his little brother.

The basement door was partially open. Dean paused at the top and listened. Nothing. The soldier inside of him armed itself with courage, commitment, focus, and fear, not the kind that disabled, but the kind that made you alert, ready, quick to act and react. He began to move stealthily down, one step at a time, carefully, determinedly, carrying his unloaded weapon as if armed should he need to set up a pretense. Trying desperately to adjust to the darkness and get his bearings, he paused half way down.

Off to the left, barely a few feet away, he could make out a small broken window which was allowing a tiny bit of light to sneak into the musty cellar. An old wooden workbench that seemed to reflect the light that was attempting to make its way onto the cold cement floor, stood beneath it. Dean quickly realized that the reflection cast back from the decaying bench was coming from multiple metal objects neatly arranged in a row on top. Upon closer glance, the objects were clearly recognizable….weapons, double sided blades with jagged edges of all sizes… a hunter's arsenal. To Dean's dismay, many of them were darkened in places with what appeared to be blood. Horrified, Dean's stomach sickened… Sammy's blood?

Dean's feelings internally battled with his training, each struggling for control. Dean had hunted many times before and his training had always won out, but this was so much more difficult, this was about his brother, his family and he felt himself slowly lose ground to fear.

Fully adjusted to the semi-darkness, Dean's eyes began to search in terror the room that lay a few steps beneath him, scanning frantically for any sign of Denton or worse, an injured Sam. His eyes met their mark; Dean stood still, his body glued in place as he felt sheer horror crawl up his legs, travel through his spinal cord, and grip his heart in a strangled panic which radiated from his eyes….Sam.

Sam's almost shirtless body hung limply before him; trails of blood from multiple whippings, punctures, and cuts ran their way down along his back and across his chest, collecting along the waistline of his favorite jeans. His wrists were shackled, chained high above him over a wooden beam that was unforgiving in its strength, offering no possibility of breaking and releasing the prisoner that dangled helplessly below it. His legs were slightly bent beneath him, his bare feet rested in a pool of blood on the floor. The defeated young hunter's head, bloodied and unconscious, drooped forward, resting lifelessly on his damaged chest. His left arm was clearly broken as the bone piercing the skin threatened to force its way out. If it weren't for the length of his body and long brown hair, Dean would have barely even recognized that it was Sam.

"No," Dean breathed out in a wash of sadness and despair as his eyes began to fill with tears. Overwhelmed with the sight of his little brother hanging helplessly before him, Dean forgot his training and rushed to Sam's defeated body. He gently placed his fingers on Sam's neck and a wash of relief flooded his shock filled mind; at least Sam was alive.

Dean quickly glanced around the room and was relieved to find that Denton was no longer there. Overwhelmingly concerned for the life of his little brother, it never occurred to him that the remaining huntsman's weapons were an ominous sign that he would be returning.

"Okay, okay," he whispered trying to calm himself and get his bearings. He swept his hand across his tearing face. "It's gonna be okay" he continued attempting to comfort Sam as much as himself.

Sam was no where near conscious to be able to benefit from his big brother's words.

"Think, Dean, think," the older sibling muttered aloud as he tried to clear his head of the despair and fear that had returned, paralyzing him. He didn't know quite where to begin.

"Sammy?" he whispered as he placed his hands lightly along side his little brother's badly bruised face and gently lifted his head to see if he could arouse his beaten brother. "God, you're a mess." The tears that once again welled up in his eyes finally found their way down the sides of his cheeks. Dean wiped them of and continued assessing his brother's condition.

Both of Sam's eyes were swollen; his nose was bloodied, most likely broken, his lip was split in two places and even now continued to drip the blood that had softened them prior to the beatings. The bruises on his face, especially along his hairline, were unforgiving as they stretched his bruised skin far beyond what one would think possible. Dried blood was caked inside the young hunter's left ear.

"Damn," Dean spoke shaking his head and biting his lip. His eyes changed briefly from grief to anger, "I'm gonna kill that bastard for what he did to you."

Having determined that Sam was alive and badly in need of medical attention, Dean began the daunting task of trying to free him from his imprisonment.

"Let's try to get you down, Sammy," Dean offered softly, hoping that the sound of his voice might somehow bring his little brother comfort and keep him from slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

"Man," Dean sighed as he looked over his little brother's situation and what it would take to free him. "This is gonna hurt," he offered sympathetically.

Needing to believe Sam could hear him, he offered a little hope. "We'll take it slow. You're gonna be okay, little brother."

Reaching inside his jacket, Dean felt around for his lucky paper clip, the one that had freed him from handcuffs more times than he could count. Denton apparently hadn't considered it a problem when he was removing Dean's cell phone and keys. Once again, the chessman had underestimated his opponent.

He began picking the lock on the shackle, cruelly holding Sam's broken arm. After a bit of struggling and several glances to see if his movements were causing his little brother any pain, the shackle popped open and Sam's wrist was released into Dean's grasp. He attempted to steady Sam's shifted weight against his side, being careful not to pull unnecessarily on his broken arm. He gently eased the broken limb down. Sam gasped and moaned with the movements. Dean winced along with his younger brother each and every time.

"Damn," Dean sighed. "Sorry, Sammy."

The second shackle would be much more difficult. It was hard enough to steady Sam's dead weight, but to raise him far enough to remove him from the second shackle once it released would be no easy trick. Sam's dead weight pulled the shackle down and held it steady while Dean quickly picked the lock with one hand. Within a few seconds, the second shackle popped open. Dean raised his unconscious brother up enough to slip his wrist free. Sam's second arm dropped and he began to follow it.

Dean attempted to steady his failing brother as he collapsed in his arms. Sam's head fell forward onto Dean's chest. He struggled to help him stand, but any contact to hold his little brother up only caused Sam to gasp. Finally conceding, Dean laid him gently down to the ground, easing his head slowly to prevent it from colliding with the basement floor which was the last thing Sammy needed.

Sam's body trembled from the cold contact of the floor. Dean hurriedly removed his leather jacket and covered his bloody form hoping to offer him some warmth. He then removed his outer shirt and began blotting the bleeding wounds on his chest. He fought back tears that threatened to fall for his brother who so undeservedly suffered before him.

The tortured hunter moaned again. Dean couldn't help but feel as if his brother knew he was there and was somehow trying to call out to him. He gently brushed Sam's bangs away from his bloodied face and tried to console him.

For a brief moment Sam's eyes flickered open trying desperately to make eye contact with his older brother, needing to see him, to ask him for help, to warn him about Denton but he never succeeded. Instead, he faded helplessly back to the nothingness from which he had come.

Dean pulled his leather coat tighter around Sam's shivering frame.

"Shh, Sammy, shhh…..easy……easy" Dean continued to soft talk his little brother. "Stay still, I'm right here."

Recognizing he should not move Sam and that he would not be able to get his brother up the stairs to the car without hurting him, Dean decided to call for an ambulance. As he hurriedly reached inside his jean pocket for his cell, he remembered Denton had taken it. He gently searched Sam's right pocket where he always kept his cell all the while talking to his unconscious form laid out broken on the floor.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I'm gonna get you some help."

When it wasn't there, he checked the other pocket.

"Damn," he stated sadly. Sam's pockets were empty.

He remembered the weaponry on the workbench and thought maybe, just maybe, Denton would have put Sam's cell on it. Sure enough, the cell was there resting uselessly next to Dean's between the bloodied weapons. Beside the cells lay Dean's tire iron lined up with the rest of the "tools" of torture; it had been obviously used as one of them. His eyes were momentarily captured by it, sickened to know that the blood dried on its end was Sam's. It broke his heart.

Finding the distance from his brother unbearable, he snapped himself back to reality and rushed to Sam… dialing 911. While he gave the necessary details to the emergency operator on the other end of the phone, he continued to care for Sam's tormented body.

While there were many visible injuries, most were not life threatening. Denton had played with Sam like a cat plays with a mouse, tormenting it just enough to frighten and hurt the defenseless creature, but not enough to kill it, at least not right away. It was the bruises developing beneath Sam's skin hinting of internal injuries that were disconcerting.

As he reached his shirt around to Sam's side to wipe away the blood that was there and check for further injuries, he noticed a wound that seriously concerned him. It was deep and swollen and the dark crimson blood that oozed out of it had already pooled on the floor. Dean applied pressure in the hopes of stopping the flow.

"Ah…" Sam gasped unconsciously when Dean applied pressure.

"Shh… shhh" he cooed as his brother moaned under his touch. "Sorry, Sammy. Hang in there, man. You're gonna be okay."

Sam did not respond. His skin was becoming clammy and cold to the touch. His face was deathly pale. Dean was scared. He was losing his brother and he knew it. If the ambulance didn't get there soon, Sam wouldn't need it.

So consumed was he by his worry for his younger sibling and the medical help that he so desperately needed in order to keep Sam's vision as only that, a vision, that he never even noticed the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of the seasoned hunter's truck which had returned to complete the hunt.

It wasn't until Dean had completed the 911 call and was remaining on the line, that he became aware of the creaking of the floor boards above him and the basement door being swung open.

"Saaaaaaaaamy" the disturbing voice called out in a sarcastic and bone chilling way, "I'm back."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The devious hunter began his slow descent down the rickety basement stairs with a can of gasoline in his calloused, blood stained hand. A box of wooden matches bulged in his torn jean pocket. His demeanor was malicious and arrogant.

"Time to _purge _the world of another 'Supernatural'_ freak,"_ he cruelly boasted hoping to terrify his helpless prey. "You're gonna go out in style, Sammy boy." "In fact," he laughed maliciously, "you're gonna _set the house on fire_."

The ruthless hunter continued arrogantly down the stairs as he spoke, not bothering to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting that lay below him. His heavy footsteps boasted of his oversized frame and weight. The decaying wooden stairs creaked and moaned as they were imposed upon to hold him.

"First, we're gonna clean those wounds of yours…..with gas-o-leeeeen" the cold-hearted degenerate callously remarked, "and then, when you wake up to the agonizing sting of petrol in your open wounds and your pained eyes plead for mercy, I'm gonna _strike_ the match…."

"Click"

Denton stopped abruptly at the bottom of the staircase when he heard the click of a .45 being readied to fire.

"Dean" the huntsman stated flatly turning to look beneath the steps.

"Looks like" Dean retorted, his voice deep and threatening, his words dripping with hate.

"The protector rallies…," Denton quipped with a smug look on his partially shadowed face "…_impressive_, a little late, but none the less impressive," the evil hunter acknowledged. It was clear he was taking pleasure in the newest challenge his opponent presented in this deadly game of chess.

"I _**aim**_ to please" Dean hissed sarcastically through clenched teeth, his eyes sharp as daggers, his .45 aimed directly at Denton's head.

"Thought you were smarter than this" the old hunter disappointingly chided.

Attempting to confuse and test the determined protector by personalizing the conversation a bit, Denton continued. "I pity you...

"Really? Huh...I was thinkin the same thing." Dean interjected, icicles hanging solidly from his words, as he continued to hold his .45 aimed between the huntsman's eyes.

Denton, amused by the protector's ordasity, continued. "You've been _used, _Dean… _manipulated_ by a God damned 's_upernatural_'! It has cunningly deceived you into protecting _it, _defending _it,_ even loving_ it _as a brother."

"Yeah? Well,... at least I _got_ a family." Dean quipped. ..."The way I see it, _y_ou're all _alone"_ he continued spitefully.

"Oh, and just for your information, if anyones doin any deceiving and manipulating around here, _that _would be _you_" Dean countered continuing his casual demeanor wondering how long he could keep his weapon's charade going.

In his concern for his fallen brother, the soldier in him had forgotten to pull double duty, to be a medic and a sentry. Denton's arrival had caught him off guard. He had no time to study his surroundings in order to use them to his advantage. He had taken up position under the staircase to avoid detection, however, the needed weapons to eliminate the enemy lay beyond reach on the solid wooden bench.

Dean's thoughts roamed back to Sam. Dean couldn't see his brother from where he was. Denton had deliberately positioned himself between them. Feeling his emotions begin to rise to the surface where they might be detected and used against him, the young hunter turned them off, shut them down as he had been trained to do.

Denton, annoyed with Dean's audacity, continued. You know what a _freak_ is, Dean?"

"Don't even get me started," Dean cooly replied keeping Denton engaged as he considered his options.

"...evil personified, Dean, a weapon designed to annihilate the innocent, an abomination…that's what _this _freak is." he said, callously pointing to the collapsed body of his prey. Woulda thought by now you'd recognize evil when you came face to face with it, hell, you been huntin it practically all your life!"

Dean stared accusingly at Denton, his eyes burrowing deep into the huntsman's soul, his weapon trained directly ahead. "Oh, don't worry; I know evil when I _see_ it."

The chessman, annoyed by the protector's implication stated indignantly, "You may be a noble warrior in an honorable war, but here you're fighting for the wrong side. Your commitment is commendable; but your cause…. is re**pul**sive!

Hearing his little brother described as a loathsome inhuman thing, a freak, a 'repulsive abomination', with such revulsion infuriated Dean. His professional composure began to dissolve as hatred grew within him. It was blinding. His emotions began taking over causing him to falter with a moment of confusion.

The brother inside of him wanted nothing more than to splatter the bastard's head all over the cement wall behind him and bask in the hollow stare of his dead eyes for what he had done to Sam. The sick son of a bitch deserved nothing less. But, without a loaded weapon, Dean's revenge would have to be more physical, straight out, one on one, a struggle of wit and strength, a fight to the death. Surely the sick hunter should be killed with one of his own weapons, used mercilessly, as it had been used on Sam, until he lay dead on the floor.

The more objective soldier in him, recognizing that his weapon was inoperable and that the enemy was entrenched between himself and the civilian he was duty bound to protect, knew he must _first_ _reposition _himself and _then engage_ his enemy in mortal combat. Clarity struck him, clearing a path straight through the densely wooded forest of his warrior emotions, revealing his next move to him; he was both a brother _and_ a soldier and his next move would blend the two. It would be……

"Ever play chess?" the calculating huntsman slyly questioned deliberately interrupting the young protector's thoughts, trying to engage his opponent as he adjusted his strategy to the unexpected shift in the game. His eyes searched the piece before him attempting to determine its next move…..chastisement or revenge.

"Actually, I prefer poker," Dean seethingly retorted to the depraved man that stood before him.

Denton, recognizing the protector had not exacted his revenge, having been given plenty of opportunity and words that should have provoked the pull of a trigger, became suspicious.

"Ah, poker" the huntsman acknowledged, smiling evilly, his eyes communicating a discovery… "A game of _deception_, not as sophisticated as chess, but having its own merits," he continued as he took a step towards Sam's semi-hidden form barely covered by Dean's leather jacket. He seemed to show no concern for the weapon the young hunter held aimed at his head.

"Stay back." Dean stated flatly with venom in his voice as he continued to project his weapon's charade. Realizing the window might be closing, he decided it was now or never. "Get down flat on your stomach, hands straight out in front of you..."

"Chess…now chess is a game for hunters" Denton continued unphased as he secretly unscrewed the cap on the gas can and placed a small rag into its opening. "It's a complicated game that requires great skill and strategy…. evaluating your opponent and the threat that he poses, acting….. reacting…. you know ,….. you make your move……. _I make_ _mine_…" The shadows in the dimly lit room covered both his movements and his demeanor. Only his words and the tone with which he spoke painted a picture of the battle that was about to begin.

Unable to see clearly with his opponent lurking in the shadows and sensing a need to get himself between Denton and Sam, Dean began circling the huntsman heading in his younger sibling's direction. He continued his facade, though he was fairly confident at this point that it was known as just that, by both players. Denton was better at poker than Dean had realized. His game had been turned back on him; His weapon was no longer perceived by the huntsman as a threat, maybe never was, although when and how he knew was beyond the experienced gambler.

"It's not your move" the huntsman authoritatively reprimanded as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a match. "Guess the chess master will decide who gets purged tonight," he quipped as he struck it and moved to ignite the dangling piece of cloth hanging purposely from the can.

Dean threw his useless weapon to the floor and literally flew at the oversized hunter; his bare hands extinguished the match instantly before it could ignite the rag and potentially cause Sam any additional harm.

Denton took the full impact of Dean's enraged body poorly, his head making an abrupt acquaintance with the solid basement floor. The gas can fell noisily much in the same way Denton did, only its injuries were imperceptible. Fortunately, the rag remained stuffed inside helping to keep the flammable liquid from swimming across the floor, though now the fumes were threatening to become an issue.

The stunned hunter had been surprised by the swiftness of the protector's actions though his dedication to the prey was not unexpected. Perhaps he had underestimated this piece on the chess board. The protector wasn't a pawn, limited in movement and easy to capture, as he had first thought, no, he was more like the queen, infinitely more powerful capable of moving anywhere across the board in defense of the king. Denton vowed not to make that same mistake again, not that the protector would be among the living for long, he reasoned…even queens can be captured. It had become clear that the only way to kill his prey was to go through the protector. The 'queen' had to die.

The cruel hunter responded almost instantaneously, his reaction and response, though slower than Dean's, were expertly executed. As the young hunter spent his energy and attention righting the gas can, the predator made his next move. He violently rolled to his left, tossing the protector to the opposite side of him from the prey.

"My move?" Denton taunted as he moved towards his prey, striking a second match against the cement floor. He knew it probably wouldn't light, in fact, with all the fumes in the room right now, he hoped it wouldn't, but the motion would definitely distract the annoying young hunter, thus giving the huntsman the edge. The misguided protector was determined, to a fault, to save the prey. He was counting on it.

Dean righted himself easily and lunged for the unlit match. The scheming hunter made his move, grabbing him by the throat and mercilessly hurling him back to the floor. The impact was intense. Dean felt his ribs give way to a world of pain as he heard the crack that accompanied it. A direct hit to Dean's head followed, causing his world to spin momentarily. His father's training enabled him to focus and recover quickly.

Denton, though annoyed that the protector was not down for the count, smiled and egged him on.

Fisting his hand, Dean countered with a strike so forceful it sent Denton reeling. He followed up with another solid hit and shoved the murderous hunter in the opposite direction, away from Sam.

Now bloodied, the aged hunter experienced a tidal wave of pain as he crashed into the wooden bench covered with the bloody weapons which had been his arsenal against his prey hours earlier. He smiled a toothy smile, grabbed the closest weapon, and before Dean could take cover, threw the well aimed knife in his direction.

The blade met its mark, plunging deep into Dean's left shoulder causing him to gasp and stumble back, nearly tripping on his little brother lying helplessly on the floor behind him.

"Son of a Bitch!" he cried out.

Dean's left arm was rendered practically useless. He knew he had to end this and soon. It wasn't a battle of pride or wits, a battle to prove who was right and who was wrong. It wasn't even a game of chess anymore. It was a battle for life, his life and Sammy's.

Wrapping his trembling, bloody fingers securely around the handle and praying that the knife was a straight edge, Dean tore it from his flesh. He was sickened by the wet, sucking sound it made as it was removed. He was starting to feel light headed when he looked up at Denton.

The cold-hearted predator gleamed, pleased with himself as he watched the protector stumble. He arrogantly began counting aloud the number of seconds it would take for the wounded warrior to drop. He had anticipated 10, maybe 15 seconds at best.

"ONE," he declared loudly, cruelly taunting the pained young hunter who held the bloodied weapon in his hand unable to wield it.

"Twooooooo………."

Dean heard the number as if spoken under water as his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. It was garbled and confusing.

"Threeeeeee………" Denton's sickening smile mocked the struggling Winchester as he stumbled and swayed having lost his bearings…up from down. He unwillingly sank to his knees.

"Foooooour"…..He mercilessly continued.

"Fivvvvvvvvve….." The numbers penetrated deep into the fog of Dean's pain filled mind.

Surprisingly, the protector, Denton surmised, was a more challenging opponent than expected; of course, queens usually are. Nevertheless, the egotistical hunter knew his victory was close at hand. He could see it in his eyes. The soldier was losing his strength, his fight, his will. He could see the protector's chess piece being captured before his eyes and knew that the prey's piece was soon to be checkmated.

"Ssssss..i….x"

Dean's vision swirled around in front of him in slow motion as he looked over to Sam and back again to his little brother's tormentor. He was Sammy's only chance of survival. Denton was a sickening excuse for a human being and Dean would be damned if he'd leave his younger brother to be victimized any more by him. Fear and love for his brother renewed the warrior heart in him and gave him a strength that was unexplainable. With eyes blackened in rage and teeth clenched, he summoned all his anger and hurled it in the form of the knife he held in his bloodied hand, at the gloating hunter.

Dean's aim was literally dead on. The blade drove deep into the deranged hunter's chest, slicing between his ribs and piercing his heart. Gasping for air his lungs and damaged heart could not provide, the overcome huntsman looked at Dean in shock as his body began to slowly bleed out. The defeated hunter looked at the protector with a desperate, pleading expression.

The eldest Winchester brother coldly stared back into his dying eyes."**Go back to hell where you came from!**" Dean commanded.

"I..I'll b..be wwwai...ting f..for y..you.", Denton stuttered breathlessly. Then he dropped to the floor like a massive redwood tree that had just been denatured by a ruthless lumber jack and exhaled his last breath upon his arrival there.

Dean watched as Denton's ruthlessly cold, unfeeling eyes closed for the last time.

"Checkmate," Dean declared through clenched teeth as he stared briefly at the fallen hunter.

The match was over. The protector had prevailed; the predator's king had been removed from the board.

Dean's word hung in the air for a brief moment interrupted only by the sound of Sam's distressed breathing.

"Sam?"

Dean's attention was quickly drawn behind him to his brother's wheezing sounds. His broken body struggled to capture the few breaths of fresh air the gas fumes had forgotten to overcome.

Sam stirred having been aroused by the battle that had ensued around him which had shattered the quiet unconsciousness of his mind. His body shuddered as shock began to gradually overtake him

"SAM!" Dean hollered when he saw his brother trembling, painfully drawing air in and out, in and out with great difficulty. His bloodied chest struggled to rise; his lungs begged for more air.

Dean stumbled to his fading sibling, gently touching his arm to let him know he was there. He tried to settle his brother's shaking hands, but was unsuccessful.

"Shhh, Sam, shhh."

Sam slowly struggled to open his eyes, the swelling making it impossible to get but a glimpse of his brother. His lips moved but no sound came out. Dean clearly recognized even in the dim lighting that it was his name Sam was trying to say.

"I'm here, Sammy…. It's over," he offered, hoping his voice and words would soothe and give comfort to his suffering sibling. He wrapped his right hand around his little brother's and grasped it firmly enough to let Sam know he was there.

Dean's vision blurred slightly as his own pain and loss of blood began to threaten him as well. He pushed on past his own dizziness, fully focusing on his brother. He was determined to remain at Sammy's side; he would not allow his little brother to slip away.

Returning his attention to Sam, Dean began to asses his brother's condition. He lifted his leather jacket which rested gently on top of him and glanced over his brother's broken body, tearing as the damage and pain his sibling was enduring overwhelmed him. He readjusted his bloodied shirt over the deepest wound on Sam's side in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding and recovered him when he saw his little brother begin to shiver from the cold air as it blanketed his exposed chest.

Dean, hearing no emergency vehicles or sirens yet, worried that the ambulance was still too far away. He'd made the call more than 25 minutes ago. The farmhouse had been out in the middle of nowhere and he feared help would come too late.

Sammy's eyes fixed on Dean for a moment, a tear silently made its way along his temple and down his bloodied ear.

Dean gently wiped the tear away, smiled sympathetically into his brother's surrendering face, and nodded his head. He knew what Sammy's eyes were saying and he understood. With tears welling to the point of blurring his vision further, Dean watched as his little brother's eyes rolled back in his head; his hand stopped shaking as it fell lifelessly down to his side.

"No" Dean barely whispered. "Aw, Sammy."

He reached out his hand and rested it on Sam's chest comforted by its rise and fall, even though labored. His brother was still with him. In the brief moment when their eyes had met, his little brother had begged him to let him go. Though Dean understood Sam's need to be free of the pain, having exhausted all that he had trying to make it through... Dean couldn't do it; he just couldn't let his little brother go. Not now, not ever,...not like this.

"I'm here, little brother." Dean reassured. "You stay here _with_ me" Dean's soft voice cracked under the sadness that was overwhelming him.

The soft wail of sirens could finally be heard off in the distance growing louder with each passing minute. Dean sat with his little brother on the cold floor readjusting his leather jacket once again while gently attempting to wipe the blood from his little brother's face.

He looked at his brother's helpless, unconscious form longing to take away his pain- all that he had suffered in the past twenty four hours, hell, the past week… month…. year, damn….. lifetime.

A deep sadness fell like a heavy woolen blanket over him. Sam looked so young to Dean, so vulnerable. How could someone so young have suffered so much? The death of a parent, hell, two parents with the weight of guilt Sammy had placed on himself, and then there was Jess; that alone would have crushed anyone. Then Caleb and Pastor Jim, Sam blamed himself for both of their deaths…and now this, brutalized at the hands of a madman. Dean sadly shook his head.

"Damn, Sammy, I never wanted this for you, hell, I never wanted any of this for you."

Sam began to cough and it became evident, as his older brother had feared, he had internal injuries.

Dean moved in closer, almost face to face, and gently wiped the blood from his little brother's mouth as tears welled up and made their escape down his anguished face.

"If you can hear me, Sam, fight this. Please, Sammy" he pleaded.

The sound of the ambulance, the rush of the medics, the hollers for equipment, the questions, the paddles, the oxygen mask, the blood…it all swirled in slow motion around Dean as he became overwhelmed and succumbed to his injuries, joining his little brother in the sweet world of oblivion.

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Author's note: SPOILER WARNING

Let me put your minds at ease, this is **not **a death fic for our sweet boys, they have only lost consciousness…so please don't kill the author! (smiling…still smiling, phew….. no tomatoes….yet….)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Dean awakened a few hours after surgery to the news that he'd had a successful operation, that he should expect a full recovery, and that he would be feeling a lot better in a few days. Dean looked at the doctor while he listened to his empty words. He knew he wouldn't be feeling better…not until Sam was …. and Sam's life was hanging in the balance between life and death.

Days blended together as Dean painfully heard and watched his little brother, struggling for life; the pendulum of Sam's well being kept swinging back and forth, from life to death –back to life, taking Dean's emotions right along with it. Every time Sam seemed to be giving up, losing his battle for life, he would rally and to everyone's amazement, pull through. Each time that he did, Dean would wipe his hand across his relieved face, brush away the tears that had revealed themselves unknowingly, and declare with a proud smile, "That's my boy." The hospital staff had come to expect it, in fact, they found themselves saying it right along with him. They had taken to Sam, each one relating to him as if he were their own; Dean was not surprised. Sam always had that effect on people. Though they had no clue about his puppy dog eyes or all the things that made Sam "Sammy", they were drawn to the young man who laid helpless before them, who had been kidnapped and cruelly brutalized and were personally committed to bringing him back.

Dean sat up in the uncomfortable hospital chair he had carefully positioned beside his brother's bed more than two weeks earlier. At first the chair had served as a visiting place while his own room resided down the hallway, too far away in his opinion. The doctors allowed brief visits but, being unable to move comfortably himself, he had to depend on the willingness of volunteers to help him amble down the hall to see his brother. After annoying the hospital staff with his endless requests to see Sam and to know how he was doing, and of course after his wound had made good progress without signs of infection, he was released. As he walked out of his room for the last time, he was sure he heard the hospital staff cheering. Little did they know he was merely moving down the hall to take up his new residency……in Sammy's room. After having been asked, told, ordered and threatened to leave his vigil at his unconscious brother's side, the staff had conceded, allowing him to stay. The chair that had once served as a visiting place had now become a home.

Now on a name to name basis with practically everyone on the floor who dared to step foot in his little brother's room, the medical workers had finally learned to tolerate…no, had actually warmed up to him. Having no puppy dog eyes of his own to sway them in his favor, he was quite pleased with himself at this great accomplishment. One cute little volunteer even brought him drinks and candy whenever she was in. Dean always saved the chocolate bars for Sam. They now lay stacked in a neat pile on the nightstand beside Sam's bed ready…….. waiting.

Dean leaned forward to check on his unconscious brother laid out, broken on the hospital bed next to him. His now healing ribs, complained painfully about his movements and his shoulder, still sore from the stitches, hampered his actions. But still, he pushed past the pain considering his brother's to be way worse than his own.

Sam looked so young, so vulnerable. His brutalized body was covered with gashes, cuts, and bruises from head to toe. Though some had begun to heal, others threatened infection and were under constant watch. His broken arm, now in a cast, lay still beside his fractured ribcage. The doctors said Sam's lungs were healing from the puncture inflicted on them. Dean agreed noticing that his breathing was much more deep, even, effective. It had been a long two weeks but at least there had been some physical progress.

Dean watched as his unconscious brother lay there, still, unmoving. It looked like he was just sleeping, but Dean could tell the difference. When Sam slept, there was constant movement and lots of it. His brother always tossed endlessly, hollered occasionally, and once in a while sat bolt upright. Now, he lay still, perfectly still except the rise and fall of his shattered ribcage. It was almost more painful than watching him struggle with nightmares. At least with nightmares, Dean always knew Sam would wake up.

He re-adjusted his brother's blankets, pulling them a fraction of an inch higher around the younger man's shoulders, then rubbed his hand over his scruffy face, sighed and settled back in his chair. Even though the physical wounds were heart wrenching, it was the emotional ones, the unseen ones, that troubled Dean even more. Sam should have woke up by now and Dean was gravely concerned. The doctors had said he'd be awake, _days_ ago. Still…...nothing. Dean feared that the abuse Sam had suffered at the hands of Denton had been physically and emotionally too much for his little brother. He remembered the tear and the look in Sam's eyes when he asked his big brother to let him go, to die; It was a request Dean could never honor. Anger flickered once again in his heart and he cursed Denton wishing he could bring the insidious bastard back to life just so he could kill him again. It was so painful to see Sammy laid out for days like this, well beyond the time expected.

Having been awake most of the night from a caffeine high, Dean's overtired body begged for some relief. He gently placed his hand on Sam's unbroken arm, feeling the need to assure and be assured that everything would be all right. Somewhere in the quiet of the hospital room, Dean attempted to join his brother once again in oblivion…. but sleep and unconsciousness are not connected in oblivion and the promised peace he expected to find was not there.

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Sam's head began moving slowly side to side as he embarked on his long awaited journey back to consciousness. The path was rocky and seemed endless but eventually, he found his way; his strength came from knowing that Dean would be somewhere on the other side. His eyelids, the final gate that stood before him blocking his path, seemed unwilling to yield to his efforts. Eventually, however, he succeeded in forcing them open and entered the world of awareness.

His eyes, so familiar with the darkness of oblivion, squinted painfully as he adjusted to the bright lights of his hospital room. Lying flat on his back, he stared upward at the ceiling. His view wasn't particularly interesting. Rectangular panels formed a chessboard above his head, many of which were discolored due to water damage and near the center of the 'board' were lights, bright enough to cause even a blind man to be able to see.

Turning his head to take in his surroundings, Sam was surprised to see that everything visible was white: white walls, white sheets, white blankets, white floor tiles … almost everything was white except for the fading Mylar balloon that bobbed cheerfully in the corner. "Get Well Soon" was splashed across the top in a variety of 'oh so cheery' colors. Towards the bottom, "Little Brother" had been added, written sloppily in black magic marker. Sam smiled…. Dean. Sam was pleased with his brother's _gift_. It comforted him to know his brother was somewhere near. To be honest, he couldn't really remember what had happened and why he was there and that had scared him.

Wearily, he glanced around the room searching for the bearer of his gift, confident that Dean was somewhere nearby. Sure enough, his big brother was asleep, sprawled out on an uncomfortably small, orange vinyl chair beside his hospital bed. His now empty hand, rested on the side of Sam's bed, unaware it had lost the contact it had so desperately sought after earlier.

Sam's eyes followed the reaching hand back to Dean. His appearance was surprising. His hair lacked the perfectly groomed look Sam had grown accustomed to. His usual scruff was clearly overgrown, almost beardlike and his clothes were rumbled, as if they hadn't been changed in days. Dean's arm, partially concealed by his button down shirt, was hanging in a sling. Whatever the injury was, it didn't seem too serious anymore and for that he was grateful.

Concluding the search around his room, Sam's eyes fell on a nightstand forced awkwardly to serve as Dean's side table. It was cluttered with empty soda cans, used coffee cups, crumpled napkins, candy and chocolate chip cookie wrappers, and…….. a beer bottle? Only Dean would smuggle alcohol into a hospital, the non medicinal kind that is. An empty pizza box was haphazardly thrown on the floor behind him. It was obvious Dean was living out of the room, no more like the chair. Sam couldn't help but wonder how long he had been camped out there and why. Based on his appearance or lack there of, it was clear he hadn't left Sam's side for days. How many, Sam wasn't sure.

Having secured his surroundings and his brother's presence, Sam began moving his limbs one by one and was pleased to find they all worked, even with the additional weight of the cast on his left arm. His chest and arms looked like they had railroad tracks and crossings all over them from the exorbitant amount of stitches. Sam was in good spirits for the situation he was in and began to wonder if the meds he was on might have something to do with it. For all the bruises, stitching, casts and more, he was feeling no pain. One thing he did feel was tired, incredibly tired.

Before giving in to the exhaustion, Sam tried again to remember what had happened and why he was in the hospital in the first place, but was unsuccessful. Maybe Dean had run him over with the Impala. The ridiculous notion brought a smile to Sam's damaged lips. He had annoyed his brother enough lately to provoke him. The absurd thought blended in with several others which were clearly influenced by the pain killers he was on. He wondered why Dean was the one sleeping when _he _was the one in the hospital bed and what name he had been admitted with. If Dean had any say, it would be something humiliating. Funny thoughts continued to roll lazily around inside his head until he drifted off to a medicated sleep.

The boys ping-ponged back and forth throughout the day, waking and sleeping, always seeming to miss each other, sometimes only by a matter of minutes. Even the staff remained unaware that their unconscious patient had finally awakened.

Once again, Dean awoke, this time to the same ponderings he had fallen asleep to hours earlier….Sam - should be awake - abused too much - given up….. He rubbed his hand across his sleepy face rebuking himself for not having shot Denton right off the bat. Damn that bastard. He actually believed what he was saying…..Sammy….a freak?...yeah, well, he could be at times, but they were never when he was having visions….evil personified?…..how the hell could anyone look into his brother's eyes and see evil. For a second, Dean actually felt a hint of pity for the man who had fallen completely into madness, lost in a world of confusion where down is up and up-down, but within seconds the sympathy had vanished. Denton deserved no pity. He had chosen that path and walked it with determination……….. Still….. Dean couldn't help but wonder if Denton's path was inevitable, laid out from the beginning in the very nature of being a hunter of evil, having studied and engaged it his whole life, being surrounded and drawn to it…... . Maybe he himself would be…..

"Any room in your head for my thoughts?" Sam inquired trying to draw his brother out of the pit he seemed to have fallen into.

Dean glanced up in amazement as his green eyes met the large brown eyes of his younger brother. Dean easily picked up the proverbial ball and ran with it, "Depends on what you're thinking, I guess." He quipped back with a crooked smile and a glint in his eyes.

"Damn, it's good to see you, Sammy."

The brothers exchanged looks which might not have meant much to the dedicated nurse, now preparing Sam's meds at his bedside, but communicated a lifetime's worth of meaning for Sam and Dean.

"You okay?" Dean questioned softly.

Sam glanced over himself briefly. "Looks like." "Just wish you hadn't run me over with your car, man." Sam teased, then winced as the realization that his freedom from pain was limited to a few pills and a glass of water. "I think maybe we should've done the drugs 15 minutes sooner."

Dean stood up about ready to tell Sam's nurse to get her act together when she turned around, needle in hand, and added the necessary pain killers to Sam's IV.

"How long til it helps?" Dean asked her worriedly. He couldn't tolerate seeing Sam in pain. His brother had suffered enough already.

The empathetic nurse, sensing his anxiety reassuringly replied, "Almost instantly. It goes directly into his blood stream this way, though it might take a little while to reach its full effect." Then she turned to Sam and compassionately asked, "Anything yet?"

Sam, not wanting to appear unappreciative, said, "Yes, thanks."

Dean knew differently. He could read his little brother like a book. He translated, "That's no, not yet" in Sammy speak."

The young nurse smiled at the brothers, admiring their obvious connection to each other. She knew Dean felt close to his little brother based on his behavior the past two weeks and it was nice to see the feelings were mutual. "It should be any minute now" she offered.

She looked into Sam's brown eyes for the first time and smiled warmly at him. "It's about time you woke up" she teased trying to distract the young man she had grown fond of during her care of him until the drugs could lessen his pain. " Don't think I could have taken your brother's living habits much longer. _That_ _chair _is becoming a health hazard!" she jested.

Sam smiled amusingly over at Dean who pretended to be offended.

"You woulda grown to love me……..eventually" he quipped with his classic crooked smile.

"Yeah, yeah" she teased as she headed on her way, glad to see Dean's spirits finally lifted after watching him mope around for such a long time.

Sam snickered, amused by the relationship Dean had obviously forged with the young girl.

There was a quiet moment as the two waited anxiously for the meds to take affect.

Dean continued standing vigil at Sam's side. "Anything yet?"

"Yeah," Sam replied sincerely this time as he felt himself begin to lose his connection with reality.

"Ya want to watch some daytime TV?" he questioned, noticing the change in Sam and beginning to relax, himself. "Not much on, but it sure beats playing chess."

Normally, Dean would have loved to play chess with Sam in his medicated state. It was probably the only way he could beat him. But now, Dean loathed the game. Its association with Denton would never be forgotten.

Before Dean could find the controller, Sam spoke up.

"Hey Dean?"

Dean knew that question and tone all too well. It always occurred before Sam went all "caring and sharing" on him. Dean decided to oblige after all his brother had been through and sat down close beside him.

"Yeah, Sam."

Sam cocked his head slightly and asked, "What happened ….exactly?"

"What, you don't remember?" Dean questioned remarkably.

"No," Sam stated flatly glancing down and then back up again.

"What _do_ you remember, Sammy?" Dean asked sympathetically, half concerned that he couldn't remember and half glad Sam had no recollection of all that he had suffered at Denton's hands.

"We were checking out properties for my vision. I take it the last one didn't go so well. Was it the Demon?" he questioned his brother. His soft brown eyes looked worriedly into Dean's, reading the distress in his brother's face.

"You could say that. Denton's the closest thing to one, anyway."

"Denton?" Sam asked as images started appearing in his head and his memory began to slowly unfold.

"Yeah, Sam, the bastard carried out his threat. You're vision…." Dean paused, swallowed hard, and glanced downward.

Sam searched Dean's eyes once they returned to his. Dean was blaming himself.

"Dean," Sam spoke kindly, "You couldn't have possibly known, even I didn't realize it was him." He paused, "It's not your fault."

"Sam," Dean sighed. "He messed you up…..damn near almost k… ." the thought was too painful for him to continue. Dean shook his head and added sadly, "I should have figured it out, Sammy……."

Sam saw a sadness in Dean's eyes he'd never seen before. "I'm good, Dean, _really,_ and I'll be okay" he reassured his guilt ridden sibling. "How can I not be with _you_ hovering over me,' Sam said attempting to lighten his brother's heart.

Dean appreciated Sam's faith in him even after all that had happened. Dean needed that. Sammy's faith in him was paramount.

"Yeah, well, somebody's got to watch out for your sorry ass." Dean quipped. He looked up for a smile from Sam but got a wince instead as Sam shifted uncomfortably in his bed.

Dean winced in empathy. "Still that bad? What can I do?"

"I'll be alright." Sam smiled at his brother. "It only hurts …...when I breathe," Sam offered trying to make light of his situation.

His humor was lost on Dean. Hearing anything hurt was intolerable, no, it was actually painful to the older brother. Dean couldn't help but admire his brother's courage and strength.

"Yeah, I bet."

Sam settled down covered once again by Dean's gentle tugging on his blankets.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean responded, glad he was able to do anything for his brother, glad he was _alive _and in _need _of anything.

"Hey, Dean?

"Yeah?"

"Denton. He's….."

"**_DEAD_,** Sam." Dean knew Sam's memory was returning and that, as anyone would be, he was afraid. "He's **_dead _**and he's **_NEVER_** hunting anything ever again."

Sam closed his eyes appearing to have fallen asleep, but inside he remained awake for quite a while as the memories of his torture at the hands of the seasoned old hunter became painfully vivid. Sam had never known that kind of physical pain coupled with the emotional like that and though he knew the hunter had been warped, he couldn't help but feel like maybe he _was_ a "supernatural" and worry that maybe that part, growing up inside of him, would one day reveal itself to be everything Denton claimed it would be. Too tired to go any further with that thought, Sam drifted off to a medicated sleep looking once again for the peaceful land of oblivion.

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Author's note: There's more to come! So, keep reading and reviewing! Rachelly


	13. Chapter 13

Previously:

"Denton. He's….."

"**_DEAD_,** Sam." Dean knew Sam's memory was returning and that, as anyone would be, he was afraid. "He's **_dead _**and he's **_NEVER_** hunting anything ever again."

Sam closed his eyes appearing to have fallen asleep, but inside he remained awake for quite a while as the memories of his torture at the hands of the seasoned old hunter became painfully vivid. Sam had never known that kind of physical pain coupled with the emotional like that and though he knew the hunter had been warped, he couldn't help but feel like maybe he _was_ a "supernatural" and worry that maybe that part, growing up inside of him, would one day reveal itself to be everything Denton claimed it would be. Too tired to go any further with that thought, Sam drifted off to a medicated sleep looking once again for the peaceful land of oblivion.

Chapter 13

Dean sat quietly awake in his chair watching Sam supposedly sleeping. Dean knew his little brother well enough to know Sam wasn't _really _sleeping, well at least not at first anyway. Sam's sleeping was much more active, with tossing and turning a given. No, Sam had shut down. Why? Dean wasn't quite sure. His immediate thought… Denton. Not knowing whether it was better to let his brother have some time to sift through the rubble of the demolition site of his heart or whether he should speak up, Dean placed his hand on Sam's unbroken arm to assure him that he was there if he needed him, and just sat quietly keeping his vigil as his own thoughts began to consume him.

Having spent most of his time and energies focused on Sam and his well being the last week or so, he'd had little time to sort through what happened or acknowledge the effect it had had on himself. Now, sitting quietly watching his brother, wondering what his thoughts might be, the flood gates swung violently open and his fears began pouring down over him like a tsunami: powerful, unexpected, and devastating.

Denton had frightened Dean on all kinds of levels.

On the first level, he had made it very _real_ that Sam was indeed supernatural…not in the evil sense of the word by any means as Denton had concluded, hell there wasn't a single evil bone is Sam's entire body, never had been, never would be, but supernatural in the "special" sense. Dean was fully aware of Sammy's "special-ness" in the form of his visions, but the connection to being "supernatural" had never been made before in his mind. Dean feared there were other Dentons out there who might misunderstand his supernatural abilities and try to hunt his little brother again. The thought frightened him deeply. Denton had been brutal, cruel, malicious, and hateful and his brother had suffered mercilessly under his control and Dean could not tolerate his brother ever suffering such an atrocity again.

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a deep breath being slowly taken in and stressfully released. He shifted his hand slightly on Sam's arm to remind him he was there, and could only hope that Sam was wearing a hard hat in the construction site of his mind. He wished he could walk the site with him, clearing the path of fallen debris out of his way as he walked, but Sam was choosing to walk the site alone and all that Dean could do was watch. His thoughts began to wander back to Denton as he tried to come to terms with all that had happened and how it had effected him.

Denton had initiated another fear as well, the fear that he might someday follow down the dark path the old hunter had taken. He had been a noble hunter, years ago, a little rough around the edges, but a descent huntsman fighting against evil for the sake of those who needed his protection. He had actually been admirable, willing to risk himself for _the cause _much like Dean was now. But somewhere, Denton had fallen off of humanity's plane of existence and stumbled into the abyss he was so desperately trying to destroy. Dean couldn't help but wonder if it was inevitable for all who spend a life time hunting, studying, immersing, and surrounding themselves with evil. Dean had been immersed since he was 4 when he had been thrown head first into the murky waters of the supernatural deep; Denton plunged into its depths when his mom became a vampire when he was ten. Both had been submerged at an early age and Dean couldn't help but wonder if he, like Denton, might get drown on his way to the surface.

He had felt the waters nearly overtake him several times before. He had been ready to kill Max and Roy for the sake of _the cause_ having determined both to be using the dark forces of evil for their own bidding. Then there was Meg and her 'brother'; he didn't even flinch and found himself bordering on detesting the kill and being satisfied by it. Finally, there was Denton. Dean was glad the bastard had forced his hand and really did enjoy watching his life drain from him. Was it justifiable to enjoy killing something that was hurting your loved ones or was this the start of the same path Denton had begun years earlier, the drowning Dean so desperately feared?

Dean reassured himself that whenever he had stepped anywhere near the edge of humanity's plane, Sam had always pulled him back to safety. Sam always seemed to keep his plumb line straight….to remind him of the value of life and to step in when Dean needed to be redirected. It was a comfort to know that his little brother would always be with him making sure he made it to the surface where his humanity lay.

Dean looked upon his brother appreciatively, so glad he was there and able to be looked upon. He watched the slow and steady rise of Sam's chest which now indicated he was no longer awake, but had fallen asleep. Dean knew that sleep was not always peaceful for Sam either, but it had to be better than being alone in his mind with Denton. Dean felt sorry for his little brother; there was no peace in being awake and even less when he slept.

The thought of Sam's nightmares and visions tugged at Dean's already full heart as he feared what Sam's powers ultimately _meant_. His brother's visions created a fear in him...not _of _Sammy, like Denton had, he would never fear his own brother, but _for_ Sammy. The demon had plans for him and that scared the shit out Dean. He feared that the demon might try to turn Sam and he feared what it might do to him when it tried. Denton assumed the demon would be successful and that Sam was evil simply because he would become evil, as if he were a larva, a beginning developmental stage of a creature yet to be, and was destined to become evil once full grown. Dean didn't believe that. He believed Sammy was good and that evil would be swallowed up in the end by Sam and not vice-versa. Still, Dean feared what Sam would go through in the process and what the final cost would be.

Dean turned his head towards the night stand he had haphazardly placed next to him when he'd taken up his residency at his brother's side. The clock on its table top brightly announced 3 a.m. , it's soft green lights claiming all was well. He turned off the light over Sam's bed, covered his sleeping form loosely with the white hospital blanket that was askew on top from the tossing and turning his brother was inflicting upon it. It almost looked as if it would have abandoned ship had it not been neatly tucked under and cornered at the ends. Then Dean sat back down, slouched into his comfortable sleeping position, more like uncomfortable to be honest, and leaned his head back against the dented wooden border of his tacky orange chair.

Dean couldn't believe that even though dead, Denton still continued to play chess with him in his mind, with his thoughts. At lease Sam was safe. He hadn't recalled the chess match so evilly strategize by the supposed chess master, at least not fully…at least not yet. Having watched Sam shut down not too long ago, he wasn't sure anymore. Dean could only imagine what Denton had said to Sam those many hours he was held captive and he prayed to God that Sammy would never recollect any of it. It had seemed for a time to have been wiped clean from his mind. A protective thing the mind does when it experiences trauma the doctor said. Trauma.. … God, Dean hated Denton. His only hope, no prayer, was that Sam would continue to remain oblivious at least to most of what took place and be able to put it behind him. He couldn't imagine his little brother having to deal with the memory if it should fully return.

Hours later, having wandered the empty corridors of his mind searching for understanding that had been locked behind what seemed impenetrable doors, Dean was feeling like he had found a few keys. The first one unlocked the shackle that had temporarily chained him to a destiny like Denton's. Sam always was and always would be his plumb line, keeping him on the straight and narrow path of fighting for the right cause. He need not fear his path's future because he would not be walking it alone.

The second key had been harder to find but brought Dean tremendous peace and an even stronger sense of purpose. He need not fear what Sam's powers meant for Sam. He knew in his heart that Sam was good and that his powers would be used for good. It was who Sam was and the only thing Sam would ever do. The powers weren't something to be feared but embraced as the very tools used in the fight against evil. Sam _would _defeat evil and not the other way around, Dean was confident of it and it renewed Dean's sense of purpose…to protect Sam and make sure he was successful in the skirmishes along the way. He wasn't sure on what scale the battle would be fought, but he knew his brother's gifts were going to be the weapon's used to win.

Dean's eyelids slowly began to droop as the night shift began its final rounds. Still, he pressed on trying to finish his final thoughts.

His last fear, brought on by Denton's cruelty, was that Sam's supernatural-ness came with a price and Dean feared the price would be his life. He had almost lost his life for being supernatural once and the unknown future seemed to loom threatening over him. Dean could bear almost anything but that...

Finally, having exhausted himelf completely from his labyrinth of thoughts, Dean fell into a deep restful sleep.

Sam on the other hand wasn't as fortunate.

Somewhere in the darkness of the hospital room, a dream eerily wormed its way into Sam's unsuspecting mind. The nightmare began as most often do….darkness hanging heavily, gripping fear, and the feeling that something dreadful was about to happen. This nightmare was no different. Sam was hanging helplessly chained to a ceiling while Denton circled, mercilessly inflicting pain upon his helpless exposed body. Torturous instruments repeatedly sliced through his flesh while warm blood dripped down his throbbing chest. Then there was the sound of his ribs being shattered as a tire iron beat mercilessly on his rib cage and the snap of his arm as the bone splintered into pieces when one blow had missed its mark. Denton's words were scattered throughout the nightmare- maliciously spoken, dripping with hatred and disgust… "evil, abomination, must be destroyed, punished-then there was more pain…to his eyes, his head…more blood as his skin was sliced and peeled layer by painful layer. Midway through the nightmare, Sam had suspected it was a dream but though he struggled and struggled, he was powerless to wake himself. Trapped in his nightmare with no means of escape, he finally screamed his brother's name in desperation hoping somehow Dean could get him out.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed terrifyingly as he bolted awake in a cold sweat.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up awakened from his sleep.

"DEEEAN!" Sam begged frantically unaware of his brother's presence.

"SAM! What's wrong!" Dean hollered as he jumped up out of his chair hearing his brother's painful scream for help.

Dean grabbed on to his brother's trembling arms, confusion and panic streaming from his eyes. Trying desperately to make eye contact and settle his brother's trembling body, he begged, "_Please_, tell me what's wrong! Is it a vision?"

It wasn't until Sam was fully awake that he realized it had been more than just a bad dream. It was a memory, his memory returning to him in that sleepy state between sleep and arousal. The injuries on his body confirmed his suspicions, his scars matching the injuries inflicted in the dream. The nightmare had been real.

Sam's face reflected back the sheer horror he was feeling inside as he stared back at his brother and pulled his arms tightly against his trembling body .

"Sammy! Talk to me!" "Is it your chest? Are you in pain!"

Sam shuddered with fear and then his stomach started to heave uncontrollably. He struggled out of his bed in an attempt to get to the bathroom.

"Where're we going, Sammy?" Dean questioned, his movements synchronized with Sam's.

Dean tried to make eye contact with Sam and help him; he was willing to do anything, anything. Something terrible was happening but Dean had no clue what it was or how to help.

"SAM?" he questioned when he got no response.

"Gonna be sick" Sam choked out.

Dean tried desperately to aid his brother in his panicked attempt to make it there in time.

"Hold on, I'll help you." He placed his brother's unbroken arm over his shoulders and wrapped his arm around his waist.

"Ah!" Sam gasped as his brother's touch pained him.

Dean recoiled immediately fearing he'd hurt his brother further.

Sam stumbled awkwardly, his legs barely able to hold him up, desperately trying to make it to the restroom. Dean helplessly followed his brother shadowing him with his hands without actually touching him just in case he should fall.

Unfortunately, part way their, Sam's battle with his stomach was lost and he threw up. The violence with which he expelled his stomach contents tore through the tender stitches that held his broken body together causing a wave of pain to shoot through him that forced him to his knees.

"Ah …. God……" Sam cried out desperately trying to work through the pain.

"What can I do? Tell me what to do! Dean begged.

Dean felt absolutely helpless. He struggled to help Sam down but was powerless to do little more. He was afraid to touch him, afraid to inflict any pain on his already suffering sibling. When he pulled back his hand, it was wet.

"What the f…..?"

Dean looked back at Sam where he'd touched him. Blood had started oozing through his hospital gown where the stitches had torn.

"Shit!" Dean swore as he began to check over his little brother's body in fear.

"Help! I need help in here! Somebody help!" Dean cried.

"God, Sammy," Dean exhaled as he saw his brothers and his whole world falling apart around him.

Sam's body appeared to dissolve before Dean's eyes as it sunk slowly into a puddle on the hospital floor; Dean's heart dissolved right along with it.

Sam felt his world fading. His stomach hurt, his arm throbbed, his ribs were excruciating, his skin screamed in pain. He had to consciously force himself to breath slowly in and out regardless of the pain. It was almost like he was reliving it. He could still hear Denton's voice in his head…seething as he spit his venomous words at Sam in anger- words that cut deeper and more painfully than the knife the sick hunter was holding in his blood stained hand. It wasn't long before tears began falling uncontrollably down his paled face dripping into the fabric of his hospital gown and dropping mournfully to the floor.

Dean placed his hand gently on Sam's shoulder. Seeing his brother's tears...he knew.

"Damn" Dean exhaled..

He knew what was happening and why and his tears joined his brother's on the cold hospital floor.

The hospital room became a flurry of activity as Sam's condition was quickly evaluated. Sam, broken inside and out, reached out his hand searching for his brother's, needing to know he was there and that he wasn't alone.

"dean…" Sam uttered in barely a whisper.

Dean's hand slid quickly into his little brother's and offered a reassuring squeeze. He leaned in between two of the nurses as they worked.

"I'm here little brother." Dean whispered down close to his ear.

Sam turned his overly pale face toward his brother as the staff readied him for triage. His eyes were hollow and defeated, his body covered once again with bloody lines. His long brown hair was stuck to his face where his tears had dried; more tears threatened to be on their way.

Dean held on to Sam's hand as tightly as he dared to, his eyes reassuringly and compassionately glued to his little brother's as they wheeled his gurney through the hallway to triage. The hospital staff separated the brothers at the entrance, but their eyes remained locked until the doors cruelly blocked their view. Dean peered through the small square window trying to keep up his contact with his little brother, but it was impossible. Sam had already lost consciousness.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Dean brushed his hand, now torn from his brother's grasp, across his face attempting to wipe away his tears and worries along with them. He had dreaded this moment; hoped that, somehow, Sam would be spared the painful memory of his torture and the ability to relive it in his mind. Instead, like a grain of sand powerless against a mighty ocean, his brother had been overcome by it, forcefully picked up, thrashed about mercilessly in its unyielding surf, and dashed upon an unforgiving shore. The weight of all of Sam's suffering had come crashing down on the already weakened sibling and Dean was powerless to do anything to help him and couldn't even be at his side. The sterile hospital doors swung nonchalantly back and forth – flaunting their powers to separate the brothers.

Feeling like an amputee who just had something precious taken from him, Dean turned around and began to search the waiting room for a place to sit. The room was full of faces: sad ones, fearful ones, tired ones, and tearful ones…waiting…all waiting... Anxiety hung in the air like smog in a polluted city choking the life out of everyone breathing it. Not wanting to see or be seen, Dean buried his head in his hands and waited along with everyone else.

In what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only hours, Sam's nurse gently tapped Dean's knee and softly called his name. She had come to check on Sam, whom she'd grown quite fond of while he had been unconscious under her care the past week. Having spoken with the doctors, she approached Dean to offer him some comfort.

"Dean" she said softly.

Dean raised his over scruffy face and looked at her with sad eyes.

"Hey, Sarah" he softly replied pleased to see a familiar face, one that knew him and Sam and what they had been through.

She looked into his broken, weary eyes and her heart went out to him.

"He's gonna be okay." She offered smiling kindly as she took a seat beside him.

"You talked to his doctor? Dean questioned wearily, desperate to hear _any _news, preferably the good kind.

"He'll be out in a bit to give you more details, but Sam is going be just fine." Her voice was soft and soothing. She offered such compassion.

While grateful for the news, Dean searched her eyes for something more and she graciously obliged.

"They had to redo some of his sutures, but his X-rays look fine, his bones are still in proper alignment and there's no internal bleeding which is good, _really_ good. He's going to be fine, Dean, probably uncomfortable for a while, but fine."

Dean nodded, pleased with the news as well as the bearer of it.

"Thanks…you know….for……this" he said awkwardly, smiling appreciatively back, referring to her kindness and help in getting him info on Sam.

"You be strong. Your little brother's going to need you." She encouraged. Then slapping his knee gently, twice, she stood up. "I'll see you _both_ back upstairs."

Her use of the word both was deliberate and appreciated. Sam would be okay and resting in his room soon, with Dean.

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled it along with most of the worries that had been choking him from the inside.

The doctor's update gave Dean little more information than he already had, but a whole lot more reassurance that Sam would be okay….physically that is.

Emotionally, however, Dean was just not sure. Having seen the conquered, despondent look in his little brother's eyes as he was wheeled into triage, he recognized the emotional healing would be harder than the physical. Sam was lost in the blackened tunnel of defeat and despair where no glimmer of light could be seen in any direction. Having been broken, he lay wounded on the cold ground, unable to move, only able to see the darkness that lay endlessly before him. Blinded with fear and overcome with hopelessness, unable to discern if there's even a way out, he cried out for the one whom he trusts; the one he knows will find him and deliver him to safety….Dean.

The warrior heart in Dean awakens, stirred by the desperate call of his languishing brother. He readies himself to do battle with the defeating darkness permeating the crowded corridors of his brother's tortured mind, to reach in and grasp his entangled sibling caught in the clutches of hopelessness, to bear his burden and carry him to safety. Dean was willing to do whatever was needed, for however long, to help Sam come to terms with what Denton had done to him in the many hours he was held captive, tortured at the hands of the madman. His little brother's well being was deeply ingrained in the very fibers of Dean's being and he could do no less.

With new resolve, Dean stood up and began to make his way back to his brother's room silently planning his next few moves. The emotional world was somewhat unfamiliar to Dean. It's not that he doesn't have feelings, quite the contrary, he feels a lot and deeply. It's that he doesn't communicate them often and is unsure how to respond to them in his brother. When Sam shares his feelings, they affect him deeply and he finds it difficult to maintain his composure so, he tends to avoid them. Not this time. He would be a listener, a sympathizer, a father, and a friend… a brother, a counselor…. whatever was necessary to help his brother mend. He would be gentle when needed, but firm when required.

A familiar gift shop on the first floor caught Dean's eye again. Its balloons were bopping up and down, trying to creep out into the hallway; their bright colors beckoning to the passers by that they were ready to fulfill their cheerful destinies. Dean remembered that Sammy's balloon was looking a bit tired and decided to oblige. He would begin his emotional triage with a quick stop in the gift shop. Needing weapons for the battle that lay ahead, he armed himself with chocolate, a checker board, a stuffed dog (Sammy loves dogs), and a new balloon. The sales clerk smiled cheerfully, proud of her great salesmanship, and wished "Mr. Fixit" a happy day.

Upon Dean's arrival, he surveyed Sam's room. It looked pretty much the same, well, except it lacked a certain little brother of course. Sam's balloon had lost its enthusiasm and was sadly hovering just above the floor. Dean replaced it with the new one he had just picked up. This time the words "Get Well Soon" had an "er" added at the end in scribbly black marker. Dean placed another stack of chocolate candy bars and a bag of gummy worms beside Sam's pile on the nightstand. He checked the room one last time; he wanted it to be….. well, cheery. He cringed at the word, but he knew his brother would need it. Then he sat down and waited.

A few hours later, Sam was wheeled back to his room where Dean sat waiting for him. He was still out cold but he looked a hell of a lot better than he did when he left. Still, Dean was taken back by his brother's appearance. It wasn't that his bruised and battered body looked worse or that the pale color of his face had lightened or even that the bandages on his chest were fresh, indicating the newness of his injuries, no it was the unconscious stillness that was unbearable… too familiar…too painful.

Dean began his bedside vigil again, checking on Sam's blanket, pulling it up and re-tucking it around his shoulders. Dean paused briefly standing at his bedside and looked down on his sleeping brother whose face seemed so young, so weak, so vulnerable. Dean placed his hand on top of Sam's head and rested it there for a moment.

"God, Sammy, you never get a break, do you little brother?" Dean said sadly,

"You're gonna be okay, Sam" he softly whispered gently moving his hand down to his brother's shoulder. "We'll get through this. I'll make damn sure of it." he promised in the quiet of the room as his brother slept on.

It was a promise made for the moment with a lifetime guarantee. Dean would always make damn sure Sam was okay, that he was 'making it'. After all, Dean had always been in the "Sam" business and always would be. His product…Sam; his client…Sam. Dean had practically raised his kid, cared for him, taught him how to tie his shoes, read, play soccer, even taught him how to throw knives much to his Dad's displeasure when he had to repair the motel's bedroom wall. Dean was quite proud of what his business "produced"…Sam was great….well at least most of the time. When Sam was lacking or needing "improvements" Dean was on his ass making sure he shaped up.

As he grew up, Sam became more of a client; someone whose needs he would try to understand and meet, cater to, and please. He would look after him, protect his interests, absorb his shortcomings, cheer him, and 'hold his hand'. This past year, after Jessica's death, Dean had installed a window to provide better communication between him and his client. One that could be opened and closed as needed based on his client's needs and Dean was learning how to better supply the requests being made through it. The damage done by Denton was yet to be determined, but Dean was fully prepared to do whatever was needed including changing the window into a double doorway if necessary.

Sam opened his eyes a few hours later to a chess board ceiling and blinding white lights. His mind was groggy but he knew where he was. He knew without looking that there was a somewhat cheerful Mylar balloon in the corner trying desperately to complete its task of urging him to get well soon and a scruffy looking brother slouching in the tacky chair beside him. He slowly turned his head in his brother's direction.

Dean sat quietly with his eyes fixed on Sam. Ready and waiting for whatever came through the "window".

"Hey" Dean offered when his brother's eyes fixed on him. His mood was quiet; concern was evident in his voice.

"Hey" Sam replied softly back. His eyes still carried the look he had left the room with…defeated.

"Doc says your gonna be okay" Dean reassured his brother

"Yeah?" Sam asked halfheartedly.

"Yeah" Dean answered taking in his brother's sad demeanor.

The two boys paused for a moment, neither unsure of quite what to say about what had happened earlier.

"You feel okay?" Dean questioned trying to confirm Sam was physically going to be okay.

"Considering…" Sam answered once again quietly.

"Need anything?" Dean continued, wanting to reach out to his brother but not knowing exactly where to start.

"Naw" Sam replied, appreciating Dean's presence and concern.

The two sat in silence for a moment. Dean was at a loss for words.

A nurse came in and added something to Sam's IV.

"What's that for?" Dean questioned protectively. "He's not due for pain killers for another hour."

The nurse, amused by Dean's interest answered, "The doctor is upping his dose to help him be more comfortable."

"Won't that put him to sleep?" Dean questioned. "He just woke up!"

Dean wanted more time with his little brother before he dozed off, time to make sure he was okay, inside, not just on the outside, time to talk if his little brother needed it. Truth be told, Dean needed it just as much as Sam did.

"It might make him a bit groggy, but he'll be more comfortable."

Suddenly, Dean turned to Sam, the nurse's comment hit him.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he questioned worriedly.

"Not really"

Relieved, he told the nurse, "He's not uncomfortable", hoping to stop her.

Suddenly Sam's comment hit him and he turned back to Sam.

"What do you mean, not_ really_? Are you in pain?"

Dean's routine was getting humorous. Sam smiled. He was amused that his brother had any clue as to what was going on and even more so that Dean wanted to be with him…awake. Dean was usually telling him to get some sleep and it just seemed ironic.

"Course I'm in pain, Dean, I mean look at me!"

Dean studied his brother taking in his bruises, stitches and cast.

"Yeah, okay, you better give him the stuff…maybe even a little extra…he's in pain." Dean suggested. He didn't want his little brother to be feeling any pain.

The nurse laughed out loud causing Dean to blush slightly.

"What?" Dean questioned innocently. " You people go in and out switching every hour, every day…it's hard to keep up with you…I just want to be sure you know what you're doing."

The nurse glanced over at Sam with pitying eyes.

"Best friend?" she asked sympathetically. Dean perked up proudly.

"Brother" Sam corrected rolling his eyes and smiling. Dean looked sideways not sure if he had been complimented or insulted.

The nurse gave a knowing nod and Sam beamed.

Dean, seeing Sammy smiling, grinned right along with him.

God it was good to see Sam smile. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever see his little brother smile after the realization of what had happened had hit him so hard. The image of his brother collapsed on the floor retching, writhing in pain, dissolving into tears flashed back into his mind. He would do anything to keep that smile on his little brother's face and he set out to do just that.

"Got ya a new balloon" Dean offered breaking the moment of quiet.

Sam glanced over at the new balloon bobbing cheerfully in the corner.

"Get Well Soon-er?" Sam questioned Dean with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, well, this balloons smaller… 'little brother' didn't fit!" Dean quipped back. "Coulda got you a "It's a Girl!" balloon." Dean teased.

Sam snorted. "Jerk!"

"B…." Dean held his tongue. The nurse was still in the room. Sam smiled pleased with his good fortune.

Both boys smiled at their inside joke.

The nurse having no clue as to what was going on finished up and went on her way.

For all his quirks, Sam loved his big brother and was grateful for his humorous show. He knew his brother was doing it up a bit to cheer him up and he loved him for it. Yes, they would need to talk about what happened, but for now it felt good to step away from it all and just enjoy being brothers again.

Soon after Sam's eyes began to droop as the medication took its affect. He glanced over to the balloon in the corner noticing its colors beginning to swirl. He looked back at Dean and smiled before he closed his blurring eyes and was out.

"Sleep well, little brother, sleep well" Dean encouraged feeling a sadness finding its way back into his heart. With all the smiles, with all the teasing, Dean could see in Sam's eyes a pain that would need to be relieved. He only hoped he could find a way to help his brother let it out and that he'd have the words to help him heal.

Sam awoke and glanced over, looking for his brother. He found him napping in his usual 'bed'; his head was hanging over the back of the chair, his scruffy chin pointed upwards, and a smile was splashed across his face. An occasional snore escaped his mouth.

Sam smiled as he lay watching his older brother. He couldn't help but wonder what the heck his brother dreamed about that he would have a smile like that. Sam wouldn't mind having a good dream now and then himself, but his were rarely good. Nightmares, always nightmares, some of them horrible like the one he just had. Sam's mind began to wander back to his nightmare. He couldn't even think about the physical torture. It sickened him and he didn't want to have a repeat performance from the night before.

Instead, his mind focused on Denton's prediction and his words. He feared that maybe the demented hunter was right, that his abilities _were _somehow related to the demon in an evil sort of way, that he was an abomination, a monster yet to be revealed and that terrified him. That, coupled with the demon's bold threat of having plans for Sam, was petrifying. Demons lie. Sam already knew that. Dean told him so when the demon on the plane talked about Jess. Sam could only hope the demon's threat of _plans_ for him was a lie and nothing more. Denton, however, wasn't lying. He truly _believed_ Sam was evil and though he was clearly demented, his opinion seemed to hold some weight in Sam's mind, though undeservedly, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was somehow going to be evil one day. It was grabbing hold of his inner fears and Sam was feeling defenseless against it.

Dean stirred and studied his brother's face. His silence, his downcast eyes, his somber demeanor…. Sam needed to talk and he was happy to oblige.

"You okay?"

"Yeah"

Dean ignored Sam's response knowing full well that he wasn't. He opened the "window" initiating the much needed "caring, sharing" conversation that was waiting to blow through.

"You remember, don't you?" Dean asked gently.

Sam turned away and looked towards the window.

Dean hesitated before continuing. He wasn't sure he could handle hearing the details, hearing what Denton had done…said…, but he knew his brother's well being was at stake and he would go through anything for him.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Sam paused and looked at his brother. Dean allowed him the time he needed to find his words. After what seemed like an eternity, Sam began.

"What he _did _to me, Dean, ……..it was _sick_." Sam's voice cracked and began shaking. Tears puddle up in his sad recollecting eyes.

Dean's body tensed as he felt his heart tighten in his chest, but he nodded for Sam to go on.

"…. How could he _hate_ me that much?" Sam questioned innocently searching his brother's eyes for an answer.

Dean looked at Sam not really understanding it himself.

"He didn't hate _you, _Sammy- He didn't even _know _you." Dean offered compassionately feeling Sam's despair.

Sam glanced away painfully. His brother's words drew him back.

"He hated what he created you to be in his mind- there's a difference."

"He said I was _evil_, Dean, an abomination."

Dean leaned forward close to Sam. He wanted to make his point clear and authoritatively.

"Denton couldn't tell evil if it came up and _bit_ him on his self-righteous ass, Sam! There is no way in hell you are evil."

The bastard was crazy, Sam, buckets o' crazy -like Meg, only worse… because he didn't have possession as his excuse. He was demented, blinded by his own hatred. Don't let him mess with your head. You are NOT evil!

"Don't you worry, man… Don't you worry about what I could….. _become_?" Sam questioned frighteningly.

"Become? No! _No way_, Sam!"

"Yeah, but what if I do turn…. you know… dark side?"

"Snever gonna happen! You hear me? Not now, not ever! I _know _you, man, obviously better than you know yourself right now. There isn't even a shade of grey about you…dark side? It ain't gonna happen. Trust me!"

Sam seemed to settle a bit and find comfort in Dean's words. Dean _did_ know him and Sam trusted him completely. If Dean was sure he was good and would remain so, that was good enough for Sam.

"Hope you're right" Sam conceded.

"I _am_ right. And you are going to_ be_ alright" Dean stated emphatically. "You know why, don't you?" Dean questioned with his crooked smile, trying to lighten Sam up a bit.

"Yeah, you told me"

Dean nodded his head, but he couldn't help himself and he said it anyways… "As long as I'm around….."

"…nothing bad is gonna happen to me" Sam answered smiling at his brother.

Dean smiled back. He could tell he had finally gotten through the thick skull that Sam called his head.

Sam's smile faded slightly as the wheels finished their final rotation in his mind. It seemed he had one more thing that was lurking unresolved. He looked back at Dean.

"What?" Dean questioned his little brother trying to draw him out.

Seeing Sam hesitate, he asked again.

"What?"

"Denton planned to kill me, right?"

"He's **_dead_**, Sam! He's _not_ gonna get the chance." Dean declared trying to put his brother's fears to rest once and for all.

Sam continued to appear restless and Dean knew there was more to come. He once again waited patiently, giving his brother time to gather his thoughts and the courage needed to express them.

"….. Denton vowed to kill me, absolutely hated me….. I saw it in his eyes as he…." Sam paused, the words just stuck in his throat. He took a deep breath. " I heard his voice, Dean, when he said all those things."

Dean waited for Sam's ball to drop. Whatever it was, it had put the fear right back into his little brother's eyes.

"You don't think he would…. you know…..come _back _to finish the job, do you?" he asked fearfully.

"What, like a spirit?" Dean inquired sensing his little brother's trepidation and trying to understand exactly what he was saying.

Sam cocked his head, raised his eyebrows and nodded. "…an _angry_ spirit…" Sam corrected.

The questioned struck Dean in the chest like a sledgehammer. Damn, the son of a bitch tortured Sam while alive and now he was going to torture him even dead.

"No, Sam, he's _not_ coming back and we're gonna make _damn sure _he doesn't!" Dean answered assertively.

Sam smiled; he knew what Dean was thinking.

"We'll salt and _**burn** _his supernatural hunting ass' bones." Dean retorted.

Sam took courage in knowing there would be finality in regard to Denton. He took great comfort just knowing that Dean believed in him and didn't fear what he would eventually become. He drew strength in knowing that he would not become the evil abomination Denton had claimed he would be. Sam was going to be okay. Dean knew it, and somewhere deep inside, beyond the memories, pain, and fears, Sam knew it too. Dean would be there to help Sam through this and he _would_ come safely out on the other side.

The brothers looked at each other and smiled. Each recognizing that they were going to be okay. They had each other, they had their lives, and they would die protecting them. Ironic in a way, but comforting none the less.

There's more coming…keep reading and reviewing! Rachelly


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 16

The next week seemed to go by quickly. The Mylar balloon, which had danced so happily in the corner, now lay exhausted on the hospital floor, having expended all that it had to bring joy to Sam. It had been a week of healing, a week of family, and a week of fun…at least for Dean anyways…

Having no interest in chess and finding a modified version of poker a bit too difficult, the boys had settled for endless games of checkers to entertain themselves; anything more was too complicated for someone strung out on pain meds. Even still, much to Dean's delight, Dean would beat the pants off of Sam every time, that is if he'd had any pants in the first place. Sam was truly off his game and, growing tired of Dean's incessant gloating, eventually lost interest in playing.

"Wanna play checkers?" Dean questioned, trying to bait Sam into another humiliating tournament.

"No"

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy"

"No"

"Afraid your gonna lose……AGAIN?" Dean teased with a smug smile on his face.

"You know, I actually think you're enjoying this!" Sam said as he looked amusingly at his brother's Cheshire Cat grin.

"Course not, Sam, how could I?" Dean teased with a 'who me' look on his face as he glanced up at his playful brother and attempted to get him to reconsider.

"I'll give you a _chocolate candy bar_ if you play…." He continued, waving one of the many bars stacked up on Sam's night table under a pile of empty wrappers.

Dean tried to use Sammy's collection of chocolate candy bars to bribe him to play and, at first, it had worked. Sam figured it was a fair price to pay- chocolate for a gloating Dean. Eventually, however, Sam, having won the heart of the same cute little volunteer Dean had gotten to know, was receiving his own daily supply of chocolates thus rendering Dean's bribes… ineffective. The older sibling was quite disappointed at the unpleasant turn of events.

"I thought you loved _me_" he stated as the pretty girl returned with a candy bar for each boy.

She smiled at the both of them and then handed Sam and extra bar.

Sam smiled and held up his candy bar, gloating this time in Dean's face as the girl hurried on to her next visit.

"And no, I _don't_ want to play checkers." He declared with great pleasure.

"Fine, whatever, just don't blame me if you're _bored_." Dean answered curtly tossing yet another candy wrapper on the overly trashed night table.

Over the course of the week, the boys moved on from checkers to penny soccer, from there to triangular paper football, Styrofoam cup basketball, and of course day time TV. They always migrated to the channels that carried shows about ghosts and ghost hunters and spent hours poking fun at the ridiculous stories dramatized before them. The staff thought it a bit weird and tended to avoid the two during those shows.

"Shotguns don't**_ work _**on spirits, you_ **idiot**_" Dean would holler back to the TV like a rowdy football fan during the Super Bowl Game.

"Dean…" Sam called quietly attempting to hush his over enthusiastic brother.

"Well at least use **_consecrated _**iron rounds…**jeez**!…"

"Dean!" his younger brother beckoned glancing out at the nurses' station to see if anyone was looking.

"Well….. they shouldn't write shows about things they know nothing about!" He retorted.

Still the episode continued on. A few smiles crossed Sam's lips. Dean continued to grow frustrated with the show's believability or lack there of.

"Ah, man, ghosts don't **_leave _**footprints! –**Come on**!" he shouted loudly.

"DEAN!"

"What? WHAT!" Dean hollered back surprised by Sam's correction.

Sam cocked his head to the side and gestured over to the nurse's station just outside his door.

Dean leaned over his tacky orange chair, tipping it slightly so he could look out the door and see what Sam was gesturing to. The staff seemed frozen in place, staring at the elder brother…with a look of "He's crazy" splashed across most of their faces.

Dean flashed his classic "gotta love me" smile and embarrassingly leaned his chair back to the floor to look at Sam.

Sam gave him one of those eyebrows up in the air, head shaking kind of looks.

"Yeah, yeah, okay" he frowned and quieted down.

For the next few minutes the show moved along with a few laughs from Sam and a couple snorts from Dean. Sam enjoyed watching Dean try to contain his comments. Unfortunately, moments later, Dean lost his struggle with self control.

"I swear, Sammy, when have you **_ever_ **seen a Wendigo with a **full head of hair**!"

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled knowingly at his brother; for all his quirks, Sam sure did love him…. Even enough to change the channel whenever he saw the fabric softener teddy bear pop up on the screen in a desperate attempt to keep Dean from getting upset about the darn thing.

Mingled throughout the fun, the brother's shared quiet moments talking. Sam did most of the talking while Dean sympathetically and supportively listened, acknowledged his fears, countered Denton's thinking, and helped his little brother move on.

Day by day Sam grew stronger physically though emotionally he seemed to ride a bit of a roller coaster. Denton's ruling that he was a "Supernatural" and that he would one day be a monster, periodically cropped back up, but Dean in his newly adopted "caring, sharing" kind of way always seemed to put things in the right perspective for Sam

The week finished being a mix of fun, family, and reflection. Both boys were healing…physically and emotionally, their bond of trust growing stronger daily, helping each other continue forward towards the future, leaving the past behind.

After meeting all of the doctor's final requirements, having many of his railroad tracks removed and being able to be freed from the intravenous fluids that seemed to incessantly pump through is veins, Sam was given permission to be released….the next day that is.

Sam, upon hearing the good news, finally convinced his big brother to take care of _himself_ for a change, to go back to the motel and get cleaned up. Dean had noticed that the female staff members were looking disgustingly at him. He would have done it sooner, but he'd been at this brother's side every day and he felt uncomfortable leaving him, concerned that he wouldn't be there should his little brother need him. Finally pride won out over purpose and Dean conceded.

Sam also insisted that Dean sleep at the motel as well.

"What's the matter, little brother? Ya sick of me?" Dean asked pretending to be offended.

"Just don't think your chair'll _survive _another night." Sam teased as he gestured to the torn vinyl cover and splintering leg.

Truth was, Dean deserved a night in an actual bed. While Sam really appreciated his brother's vigil at his bedside, it pained him to see his brother sprawled out uncomfortably night after night on his account. The tacky orange chair just really wasn't a good fit for his 6 foot 1 brother and Sam's bed barely contained his oversized body so Dean joining him there was out of the question. Though the motel beds offered little more comfort than Dean's tacky hospital "bed", at least his brother could stretch out. Sam assured Dean he would be fine for one night.

Dean glanced down at his beloved 'home' and looked back at Sam. He hesitated, but, realizing he needed to get some clothes and supplies for Sam's homecoming, obliged.

"Yeah, alright," Dean agreed after Sam's continual urging, "but you better not go anywhere while I'm gone."

"Like that's gonna happen." Sam answered back. "Oh… and Dean?"

"What!"

"You might want to get a hair cut as well."

"Jealous, little brother?" Dean teased, "Afraid of a little _hair_ competition?"

Sam gave his brother an annoyed look.

"Get a hair cut…." Dean muttered chuckling under his breath and shaking his head. "Never thought I'd hear that from _you_, Sammy. I didn't think you _believed _in haircuts!" he teased as he walked out of the room and into the corridor.

"Cute!" Sam hollered trying to reach his brother's ears.

Dean poked his head back into Sam's room and said, "Always was, always will be……

He ducked his head back in again and added, "Was born that way, but you already knew that."

Sam rolled his eyes and pointed towards the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm outta here."… "And Sammy, _try _not to miss me too much" he winked.

Upon Dean's leaving his hospital home, an entire team of gloved and masked individuals descended on the overused chair and the trashed nightstand beside it and sterilized them both. The nurse Sam had come to know as Sarah, had smiled and winked right after Dean had left…and Sam was pretty sure she had ordered the Hazmat Team.

That night, Dean called three times, mostly with stupid questions. Sam smiled knowing that the only reason his brother was calling was to check on him. Each time Sam said the same things….he was fine… yes, still alive… no, no problems or pain… no, he couldn't lock his hospital room door, and yes, the windows were salted and locked.

Sam always thanked Dean for his call and hung up. The truth was Sam was actually glad Dean had called. It was the first time he had been alone since….. well, since he had been taken, and he was feeling a bit on edge. It was going to be a long night and he would be alone, alone in his head. He just hoped Denton wasn't planning on making any appearances in his nightmares.

A gentle rain began to pitter patter on the window pane outside of Sam's hospital room. The lights from the parking lot reflected off the tiny water droplets as they gathered together and dribbled down to the window sill below. After listening to the soothing rhythm and watching the raindrops playfully racing each other to the bottom, Sam eventually fell asleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the rain stopped and a _storm_ began.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamy"


	16. Chapter 16

Previously:

A gentle rain began to pitter patter on the window pane outside of Sam's hospital room. The lights from the parking lot reflected off the tiny water droplets as they gathered together and dribbled down to the window sill below. After listening to the soothing rhythm and watching the raindrops playfully racing each other to the bottom, Sam eventually fell asleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the rain stopped and a _storm_ began.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamy"

Chapter 16

Sam's eyes flew open as sheer terror entangled its icy cold fingers throughout his spine. He bolted upright disregarding the painful tug on his newly healed skin and frantically began scanning his darkened hospital room. The hunter in him was alert and ready, the victim in him was terrified and afraid. A tiny amount of light, slipping silently under the door from the hallway, cast eerie shadows on the sterile walls and in the corners making it nearly impossible for Sam to see …but …….he sensed _something_…. lurking…hiding in the poorly lit corner over by the window. Straining his eyes to distinguish the presence he had detected, he cursed. The balloon that had been his cheery companion during the day had given the false impression of an ominous figure skulking… watching. Recognizing that the threat must lay elsewhere, his eyes continued attempting to scrutinize every inch of the blackened room that lay before them. Terror made it hard for him to concentrate, fear for him to be rational. Fearing that his own heavy breathing might betray him, he held his breath and listened………………..

Nothing…

Frozen, like a lake in the dead of winter unable to move or interact with what was occurring around it, he anxiously waited in the darkness, his heart pounding against his chest so hard he felt sure it would re-fracture his ribcage, shattering it beyond repair. His blood, pulsing so powerfully through his panicked body, assaulted his skull, causing it to throb painfully. Sam struggled to be the hunter his father and brother had trained him to be and was doing everything within his power not to panic. Weaponless and brother-less, he felt alone and exposed … defenseless. Trembling almost uncontrollably, he strained to hear something, anything that would indicate Denton's presence. The sound of his heartbeat was deafening in his ears making it almost impossible to hear anything at all.

Still, he saw and heard nothing.

Shivering with fear, Sam waited…...

After what seemed like an eternity, it was apparent that Denton wasn't there. Sam exhaled, unaware that he had still been holding his breath. Gasping for a fresh one, his ribs moaned under the pressure of the intake. He had to concentrate on breathing more slowly in order to begin to calm himself down, his heart rate as well. Relieved and exhausted, he laid himself back against his pillow which crinkled underneath him, and rubbed his throbbing forehead.

Totally confused, he began to question himself. Had he imagined the eerie call? Maybe he had been dreaming or lingering in a dreamlike state, somewhere between sleep and awake, unable to discern reality from fiction. When he'd heard his vicious captor's voice, he had just assumed Denton had been there in the room with him.

Sam looked over to his nightstand. His eyes lingered on the phone resting on the pristine tabletop. Everything inside of him wanted to call Dean. It was an instinct, really. Whenever Sam felt threatened, even at Stanford, his heart would cry out for Dean. But in the quiet of the hospital room, he just couldn't rationalize calling his brother at….Sam looked at his clock….4am. There was no discernable threat here. Sam felt no presence in the room with him and wasn't sure there ever had been. His brother deserved a good night's sleep and what Sam presumed to be a nightmare just didn't justify disturbing him.

Sam eventually settled down in his bed and covered himself with his blanket much like his brother had done so many times in the past. He missed Dean. His brother's presence had meant a lot to him and been a significant part of his heeling, his feeling secure…safe. He found it odd that he had been so independent of him at Stanford a little over a year ago and yet now, found one night apart to be unbearable. God, he was messed up. He wondered if he would ever feel safe alone again, ever be the same, independent person he used to be.

Sleep escaped the weary patient. For the rest of the morning, he lay there, awake, waiting for sunrise which, in Sam's opinion, couldn't come soon enough.

Five hours later, Sam heard Dean's voice cheerfully greeting the hospital staff on his way to his brother's room. At first they didn't seem to recognize him. His hair was clean cut and neatly parted. His face was smooth having been fresh shaven and his clothes actually had color to them instead of the dungy grey from having been worn too long. He stopped briefly to sign his brother's name to the release papers and thanked everyone for all they had done.

Dean's demeanor was almost humorous; he was giddy in fact, if that were humanly possible for Dean. Leaving the hospital marked the official end of all the medical concerns that had been associated with Sam and the beginning of the return to the life they had grown accustomed to and even, at times, enjoyed. His excitement was contagious. Even the staff seemed to be influenced by it, either that or they were just happy Dean was finally on his way out.

Dean's appearance brought a wave of relief which washed refreshingly over his younger brother. Somehow, just laying eyes on Dean caused Sam to breathe a little easier.

Sam attempted to sit up and while pain remained as a constant companion, he was surprised to find it not that intolerable. The IV had been removed and it was obvious that he would be taking his meds orally from now on as Dean attempted to juggle the many pill bottles he held in his two hands.

"Morning, Sammy. Ready to hit the road?" Dean questioned cheerfully.

"Yeah," Sam replied reservedly.

"I signed you out …..You spell Sammy with an "_ie_" right?" he teased as a devilish smile swept across his face.

Dean waited for a comment, but one never came. He eyed his brother suspiciously.

Sam's demeanor was anything but lighthearted and Dean became concerned. Waiting until the last medical person left the room, he turned to approach his troubled sibling.

"You okay, little brother?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered as he attempted to get up to dress.

Dean knew _that _tone was Sammy-speak for no.

"What's wrong?" Dean questioned with concern newly painted on his face.

Sam didn't answer. He was running silent like a submarine that didn't wish to give away its position. Instead, he shifted in order to sit up.

"Need help?" Dean 'pinged', sympathetically trying to discern the cause of his brother's dismay.

"Yeah, kinda " Sam 'pinged' back quietly.

Having made "contact", Dean stuffed the pill bottles in his pockets. He gently helped his somewhat fragile brother sit and turn so that his legs swung freely off the side of the bed. Sam winced a bit, but pushed through the pain. Dean was having trouble deciding if it was too soon to take Sam out.

"Maybe we should give it another day, Sam."

"No…. I'll be fine."

Dean eyed Sam doubtfully, but respected his brother's desire to keep his thoughts to himself. One thing about Sammy, if he wanted to shut down, there was nothing you could do about it. The kid had introspection down to an art form.

"Here, take these," Dean offered not knowing if it was the pain, the night alone, or a nightmare that had sobered him.

Dean uncapped one of the many prescriptions practically falling out of his leather pockets and handed two small pills to Sam.

"This one's supposed to taste like a gummy worms," he teased his brother, summing up his lanky frame. His attempt at humor fell once again to the floor.

Sam quietly placed the pills in his mouth, and graciously received the water his brother had hustled to get while he waited.

"Thanks."

"You owe me, man" Dean teased. "You shoulda seen the nurse I had to sweet talk to get it. She…..….(Dean furrowed his eyebrows)…._or he _was scary."

Sam's serious face broke a slight smile, amused by his brother's attempt to humor him. Dean of course was pleased his brother was amused.

Sam rose, chose his clothes, and dressed as best he could under the circumstances. Dean had brought a couple different shirts, unsure of what his brother would be able to wear comfortably. While he didn't like that he had been unconscious for so long, his brother worrying all the while, he was glad he had been spared the pain that must have been present while he was "out". Clothes hurt. They were not the light fabrics of the hospital gowns Sam had been wearing these past few weeks. Just the touch of his t-shirt against his skin was painful. Not the deep, knife in the chest kind of pain, but none the less, it was still painful.

Allowing Sam a bit of privacy, Dean walked around his little brother's room. He began collecting the things which had taken up residency along with Dean and had helped the brothers move forward. He grabbed the worn out checker board which was now missing a piece that Dean suspected Sam had hidden to avoid playing anymore, the stuffed dog, which Sam had affectionately named Sadie and sat on the nightstand to guard his candy stash, the last chocolate candy bar that Dean had actually removed, eaten, and repackaged so that Sam would _think _it was still there, and his "valuables" which consisted basically of the watch his dad had given him on his sixteenth birthday and thin pieces of leather.

Sam's leather "rope" that he always wore around his wrist had been cut off prior to surgery and somehow ended up on his nightstand. Its pieces, though seemingly insignificant to the staff, had been recently rescued from the trash by Sam. Dean smiled, glancing down at his matching rope on his own wrist which symbolized the "Brother's for Life" oath they had taken when they were kids. It still amused Dean because of course they were brothers for life no matter what. The powers that be had ordained it so. Still, he and Sammy's little ritual had somehow made the wrist wear something significant and though they didn't speak of it, they both knew its meaning and treasured the memory.

Dean tossed them all into a laundry bag that had been hanging in his hospital room closet before he had decided it needed a new home. Glancing into the bag of everything "valuable" his brother owned, Dean smiled. Sammy didn't have much in the bag and yet the bag was "full", full of the love a father and brother had for him. For one so young, his brother was quite a wealthy kid.

Dean became distracted by the sound of his brother zipping his jacket. It was the jacket's way of saying, "we're done here and ready to go".

"Ya good?" Dean asked already knowing his brother's answer.

Sam was on autopilot, even Dean could tell that. The question was… why? He decided it would be best to talk when they could be alone, and alone for Sam and Dean was in the Impala. It was a quiet and safe place to talk, emotionally anyways, Metallica was hardly quiet, at least not the way Dean played it.

"Yeah" Sam answered distractedly.

Just prior to leaving, Dean glanced back over the room…the "Get Well Soon-er" Mylar balloon was laying tiredly on the floor, the nightstand, having finally been cleaned up by the night shift Dean presumed, once again begged for junk to be thrown on it. Dean felt he should oblige, reached in his pocket, and he tossed his Kit Kat wrapper on its perfectly clean top. The bed was empty, finally…and not soon enough. It was the good kind of empty…the kind where someone has recovered and gone on with life not the kind where someone had died and was gone. Dean was so grateful it was the good kind. The thought of anything else… well, he couldn't go there.

Dean escorted Sam to the car and after carefully helping him to get comfortable enough to make it to the motel, they headed off. He periodically glanced in his little brother's direction trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. Sam continued to remain silent, his demeanor was serious. Dean was pretty sure now, that Sam had been tortured by another nightmare and he kicked himself that he hadn't been there overnight to help him through it.

"Ya want to talk about it?" he questioned again, openly inviting a "caring, sharing" kinda moment.

He figured there would need to be a lot of these over the next few days and he was more than willing to participate, even initiate, if it would help his brother make it through whatever forest he seemed to have stumbled back into. Dean couldn't quite make it out.

Sam looked over to Dean and nodded. While his head bobbed no, his eyes said otherwise. Sam's eyes….they were always communicating something….always drawing people in, always searching for understanding, expressing care and concern. This time, however, they communicated something different….

"What's up? Dean insisted gently.

Sam sadly shook his head, side to side, while remaining silent.

Growing frustrated with the inability to help, Dean decided to go on the offensive.

"It's Denton, isn't it?" Dean asked. He felt a flash of anger at the mere mention of the bastard's name.

Sam remained quiet once again. His silence was very telling.

"You have another dream?" Dean asked worriedly knowing what the other one had done to his brother and feeling frustrated that he hadn't been there when it happened.

"I _guess _so." Sam answered quietly

"You _guess_ so? What's that s'pposed to mean?"

Sam sighed heavily and spoke barely in a whisper. "I heard Denton's voice last night."

Dean's eyes flashed over to Sam; his heart began beating wildly in his chest. "WHAT! Sam, why the hell didn't you tell me! You should have called! Damn it! Did he _hurt_ you? That son of a bitch is soooo **dead**! I'll **_burn_ **his sorry ass!"

"Dean"

Dean was literally shaking. It was hard enough to protect Sam when the malicious hunter was a person, but a spirit….? The thought of that demented madman hunting Sam again boiled his rage to the point of steam. With the added touch of fear, Dean had created a near hysterical brew.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice drew his attention away from his mad chemistry and he glanced over at his brother. His own reaction has not allowed him to focus on Sam's. Quieting down from his tirade, trying to once again find the balance between the brother and the warrior inside of him, he listened to what his little brother had to say.

"It's not like that. At first, I _thought_ he was in the room with me…but I checked it out, man, he wasn't there. I guess I just heard him in my head, in my dream." Sam reassured his brother.

"So you're _sure_ it wasn't him. I mean…that he wasn't there. It was _just_ a nightmare?"

Dean cringed as soon as he said it….just a nightmare…Sam's nightmares were a lot worse than that and if Denton had been in it, his little brother was probably a mess.

"Looks like" Sam responded not offended by Dean's comment. He preferred it was one of his terrible nightmares rather than Denton returning to do God knows what to him.

Dean looked over at Sam sympathetically. His heart ached for his little brother. He'd been through so much, already. Damn, couldn't the kid get a break?

"I'm sorry, man. I should have been there." Dean answered. "Was it the same dream as before?"

"No. He was _calling _my name. It was _e_erie…. really freaked me out."

Dean felt the anger erupt once again inside of him. He hated Denton and what the bastard had done to Sam. His brother couldn't heal until he knew he was safe and Dean was gonna make damn sure he felt safe **tonight**!

"Sam, you been through _hell._ " Dean offered sympathetically, "The bastard _messed_ with your head and it's only natural that this is gonna linger for a bit, especially in your head at night when you're asleep and you can't reason. You gotta give yourself some _time_, man. Shit like that takes time to get over. But I promise you, we're gonna _finish _this once and for all. You got that? It ends tonight!... Okay?"

Sam turned away and looked out the window; his answer came in the form of a nod

"Okay!" Dean insisted that Sam answer. He knew his brother needed to.

"Yeah, okay" Sam answered pensively.

There was a moment of quiet between the brothers as they headed back to the motel to give Sam a rest. It was going to be a long night and Sam needed to recoup his strength. Dean glanced a few times at Sam to be sure his little brother was still with him.

"You gonna be alright?" Dean questioned finally.

"I will be" Sam answered as he looked over at Dean with a thankful smile.

His confidence was in Dean… and in his words…. and, in the plan… salt and burn! He was relieved Denton would be finished before the night was through. The thought of sleeping another night and facing Denton in his dreams was unbearable.

They rode the rest of the way to the motel in silence. Dean carefully planned their next few moves and Sam rested his head against the window. He was exhausted but not quite willing to doze, fearing sleep would bring on that dreaded voice.

After arriving, Dean helped Sam into the motel and insisted he take a rest. Sam argued a bit, but after being assured that Dean would sit and watch over him, he decided to oblige.

Dean sat down in the chair that had nearly swallowed him whole weeks earlier. Dean made a few phone calls to determine the location of Denton's grave and though he would have preferred to scope the place out before hand, he didn't dare leave Sam alone to be victimized once again in his sleep.

Dean hovered over Sam as he slept. At first he didn't think he was actually sleeping, he lay so still and quiet, but his slow, steady breathing confirmed that he was. It was unusual for him to sleep without wrestling with his sheets and blankets. Dean could only guess that it was probably painful for Sam to move around and, though he was asleep, his body knew to avoid it.

As far as Dean was concerned, night couldn't come fast enough. Sam's question about Denton returning had actually freaked him out the other day and now this. He was eager to get the whole thing behind them. He wanted closure for Sam. He knew he needed it and he fervently anticipated the blessed moment when Denton would burn for all of eternity.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Midnight came as expected and Sam still continued to sleep. Dean regretted having to disturb his exhausted sibling, but knew they needed to get a move on if they were to finish salting and burning Denton by sunrise.

"Sam" Dean called out breaking the silence that had dominated the room.

Sam remained undisturbed as he slept on.

"Hey Sam" Dean beckoned again a little louder this time.

Still, Sam remained asleep.

Finally, Dean got up and gently shook his little brother being careful not to hurt him in any way. Sam stirred, opened his tired eyes, and glanced up at his older brother's face.

"Sorry, Sammy, time to get going."

Sam rubbed his hand across his still bruised face, though now it was more yellow than blue. He nodded his head and with a little help from his doting brother, he went to freshen up.

Dean began readying for the hunt, going over everything one last time in his mind. He would need flashlights, shotguns and rock salt rounds…just in case, one shovel…no way in hell Sam was gonna need one, gas, and matches. Dean thought it ironic that Denton had threatened to destroy Sam once and for all with a match and some gas and here, the situation was reversed. A fitting ending to a supposed chess master…the very strategy he had used to checkmate his opponent would end up causing his own king to be taken. Dean liked that thought. Can you double checkmate your opponent? Dean wondered amusingly to himself.

Sam grabbed the wash cloth Dean had set out for him that was resting on the sink and soaked it in the warm water that was cascading out of the faucet. He gently wiped his tired, sore face. Though he had rested for several hours, it hadn't been enough. He knew he should feel the excitement of the night building inside of him as it usually did in these situations, but instead, all he could feel was fear. He didn't want to open Denton's coffin and stare at the face that lay inside it. He could still see him fresh in his mind…the spit flinging from his twisted mouth as he hissed malicious words amidst the cruel torture he was inflicting, the dark and unfeeling eyes mercilessly stabbing him with hatred and disgust. At least he wouldn't have to hear that voice again...unless it showed itself in Sam's nightmares.

Lost in thought and unaware of the time he'd spent in the bathroom, Sam began to tire. He rested his head on the wall beside the sink and closed his eyes for a moment...

"**_Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaamy_**..."

Sam's eyes flashed open. Suddenly forced face to face with Denton's reflection in the mirror before him, he knew. It wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

Sam felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins as a déjà vu feeling consumed his mind. The same icy cold fingers from the night before entangled themselves once again in his spine. His terror was blinding, his fear overwhelming. His blood once again assaulted his skull as his blood pressure soared. His ribcage ached from the pounding it was taking from his panicked heart. His skin stung as the memories of the torturous blade slicing through it flooded his mind. He stumbled backwards, falling to the floor, taking the various toiletries spewed on the sink with him. Just as before, his body froze and, unable to make it do otherwise, Sam did what came instinctually to him. He desperately cried out for his brother's help.

"DEAN!"

Dean, on the other side of the door, had heard Denton's voice and the crash of things on the bathroom floor and was desperately scrambling over the bed that lay in his path to get to his brother.

"SAM!"

"**_DEAN!_" **Sam cried out again terrifyingly as his body lay trembling and helpless on the floor

Dean rushed the door in a panic to get it open, to reach his frantic brother on the other side. He grabbed the handle and was horrified it was locked.

"SAM! OPEN THE DOOR!"

Sam couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move. His head began swirling, threatening to lose consciousness.

Dean, absolutely terrified of what was happening to his little brother on the other side of the wood barrier that stood between them hollered...

"GET BACK FROM THE DOOR!"

He jumped back, raised his right leg, and kicked with all his might.

The door splintered but didn't open. Dean repeated his kick a second time more forcefully and the door unwillingly let go of its hinges.

Sam, having been unable to move, had remained behind the door and was hammered to the ground by the force of its collapse.

"SAM?"

"SHIT!" Dean swore when he realized his brother hadn't been able to move back in time.

Carefully placing his feet so as not to crush his brother under it, Dean maneuvered past the door. He quickly surveyed the tiny room to be sure Denton was not in sight and then began unburying his brother from the splintered wreckage.

"We gotta go, Sam, NOW!"

Having no time to waste, Dean grabbed his brother under the arms and hurled him over the door and out into the motel room.

Sam, dazed, gasped as the pain of his body overwhelmed him. Blood began streaming from his nose where the door had cruelly assaulted him.

Having no time to assess his brother's damage, Dean rushed Sam out to the Impala, threw him inside, started the car and took off towards the graveyard desperately trying to put distance between Sam and Denton's malevolent spirit.

Pushing the limits on his speedometer, Dean shot a look over to his little brother who was half laying, half sitting in the passenger seat beside him. He reached out to try and straighten his listing sibling and assess his condition. Blood was pouring out of his obviously broken nose and his body was literally shaking to the point of looking like he was having a seizure.

"Shit Sam! You alright?

Sam didn't respond.

Dean swerved the car to the left and made a sharp right turn. His tire went up over the curb and came crashing down on the other side, forcing the vehicle too far to the left. Correcting the wheel, he turned back to his injured brother.

"Sam! Talk to me!"

"SAM!" Dean called out again.

Fearful that his brother's life might be slipping away, Dean abruptly swerved the car over to the shoulder and slammed on the brakes. Trying to get his little brother's attention, he leaned over and shook Sam's arm.

"Sammy, are you okay!"

Startled back to reality by the panic in his brother's voice and the sudden motion of his arm, the dazed younger sibling responded.

"yeah"

Dean looked into his brother's eyes needing confirmation that he really was okay. His trembling was saying otherwise.

Noting his brother's concern, Sam tried to say more.

"Dean….God..." Sam stammered, wanting to express what he was feeling but unable to get the words out.

"Did he **_hurt_ **you?"

Sam shook his head and looked down.

"No"

Dean nodded in relief.

"Not _yet..._" Sam added despondently, finally communicating what he was feeling in two words. He looked back over to his brother. His eyes were watery and scared.

"Not ever, Sam, we're gonna make damn sure of _that, tonight_!" Dean reassured confidently.

He nodded to Sam and, having heard his brother's words, Sam nodded back.

Dean gunned the engine and peeled back onto the road. With tires squealing, he checked the rear view mirror for any signs of trouble. He floored the car on the straight away trying to make up for lost time, then slammed on his brakes to take the next corner. The force of the turn threw Sam off balance.

Dean glanced over to see if he was alright. He looked back to the road and then over again. Damn, it hurt to see his little brother who had been laughing and healing just yesterday dissolving into a puddle before his eyes. God, he loathed Denton, not just for what he had done _to_ Sam but what he had taken _from_ Sam.

Anxiety began to grow within him about the job that lay ahead. It usually took him and Sam a good half hour to dig a grave, but Sam was in no condition to help. If Dean hurried, he could finish the job in just under an hour. The problem was, Denton would know what they were planning and Dean knew the depraved psycho wouldn't wait around for them to complete the job. The bastard would show and they needed to be prepared for it. Sam would have to be on watch, shotgun in hand loaded with rock salt to deter the bastard. Question was, could Sam do it? Dean had seen his little brother crumble at the sound of Denton's voice, understandably, but what would he do if the bastard's damn ghost appeared before him? Denton would use Sam's fears against him, try to paralyze him, and then he would take him out.

Dean felt as if he were between the demon and the devil himself. No matter which way he moved, he was bound to get Sam wounded or worse. Sam had no business going out on a hunt. He was not well enough and Dean knew that. He was placing Sam in danger simply by bringing him. But the eldest Winchester also knew he couldn't leave Sam alone. Denton would get to him and do God knows what. Dean had to keep him safe. He'd have to place Sam in danger in order to keep him safe. Damn, this was so messed up! Though it made no sense, he'd have to bring Sam and pray to God that nothing would go wrong.

Knowing that the cemetery was fast approaching and that his brother needed to have his mind in the game, Dean began to go over the plan.

"Sam, we're gonna have to work _fast_. I'll _dig_, you stand guard. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded his head.

Dean followed up by giving his brother a much needed pep talk.

"Sam, this son of a bitch is gonna throw _everything_ he's got at you if he shows up…."

"You mean _when _he shows up" Sam interrupted, correcting Dean as he looked at his brother for confirmation.

Dean nodded his head having to acknowledge the painful truth his brother was holding him to and then he continued.

"You gotta focus on what you're doing, no matter what, push past your fear and **_kick_** this son of a bitch's ass. You can _do_ this, Sam. I _know_ you can and then it will all be_ over_."

Sam nodded his head again. God, he needed it to be over! His head hurt, his nose was throbbing and his ribs ached. He could still see Denton's mirrored face in his mind: callous and arrogant, loathsome and menacing. He found it difficult to focus amidst the irrational feelings that were swarming inside of him. Dean's confidence was desperately needed.

Dean looked for some kind of acknowledgement from Sam. None came, so he began spewing his father's words, words he knew would help. "You _know _your enemy, you _have_ your weapon, you _understand_ the plan. Keep …."

"…. _focused _and _**do** your job_." Sam finished.

"That's right, Sammy." Dean nodded his head.

Dean didn't mean to sound insensitive, it's just there wasn't any room for feelings. Dean knew it, and Sam knew it too.

The words reached in through the fog in Sam's mind and brought him comfort, confidence and focus. Dean was right to quote their dad. His father's words had served them well many times. They were words the brothers had lived by and would die by. Sam was a hunter, expertly trained by a master. He had never really learned to stop his emotions as Dean had, but he had learned to override them. This was going to be the biggest test of that ability life would probably ever throw at him and he knew he had to succeed; His life depended on it and Dean's did too.


	18. Chapter 18

Chess Move: In chess, if your opponent's queen has been captured, he can recover it by moving one of his pawns across the board to your back row. Upon arrival there, his pawn is exchanged for his queen (the most powerful piece on the board) and she assumes her full abilities to move freely on the board again in pursuit of your king.

Chapter 18

The Impala raced, its driver resolute, both, determined in their pursuits, one, to transport its beloved passengers unharmed and in time, the other to save a brother's life. Disregarding the final traffic lights and signs that stood in the way of the boys' future and destiny, both boldly crossed the entryway and skidded into the parking lot of an old stone church whose image would have been lost in the darkness were it not for the moon's generosity to make its presence known.

The church had been a one room sanctuary that had doubled as a school house many decades earlier. Its solid oak doors, now chained, could offer no welcome or assistance to any who were seeking it. Its bell tower, now empty, was in disrepair leaving one to wonder whether it had finally given up its hope of ever being purposeful again. Its steeple, perfectly intact, pointed upwards as if the church were still trying to complete its mission: to direct those needy individuals who might be passing by to where they should look for help and to whom.

Beside the forgotten church lay a cemetery, littered with tombstones and unmarked graves, sadly overgrown making its surface difficult to negotiate. Encircling the graveyard, a wrought iron fence with pointed end caps hemmed in its deceased loved ones, lost ones, and those whose lives were unknown and unmourned and, within that same black iron fence, laid a dead, calculating chessman.

Having come to a screeching halt in the parking lot over by the cemetery, Sam and Dean bolted out of the car and circled around to the trunk. Dean eyed Sam carefully and was pleased to see that his nose had finally clotted and that he was more focused. He would need to be if they were to survive the night.

Sam grabbed the shotguns then reached for the shovel.

"I got that. You take these" Dean handed Sam a whole box of salt rounds.

Sam unloaded the box, shoving as many rounds as he could into both of his jacket pockets.

Dean couldn't help but notice his little brother was expecting a war as Sam added a few extra rounds to both jean pockets as well. He paused and looked at his nervous brother.

Sam, fully aware of his brother's stare, felt embarrassed and turned to glare him down.

"What?"

"Nothing" Dean responded, eyebrows raised, shaking is head. He continued gawking.

"Stop staring at me. I'm fine."

"Yeah, okay, whatever, dude" Dean conceded and got back to business.

Sam handed Dean the gas can.

"You gotta match?" the younger sibling questioned.

"A couple" Dean answered grinning and showing his brother an entire handful.

Both boys were on edge and they both knew it, but they were staying focused. The brief seconds of humor made the moment bearable.

"Salt?"

"Got it" Dean answered back seemingly overloaded.

Dean wanted Sam's hands to be free, free to shoot and free to defend himself if need be.

Both boys grabbed their flashlights, double clicked them in unison to be sure they were working, and closed the trunk.

Having loaded up with gear, Dean turned to Sam and their eyes locked. They knew what they were facing, they knew what they had to do, and they knew they would do it together…knowing both of them would live or die tonight. There was no middle ground. Either they walked out together or they didn't walk out at all.

Sam gave an understanding nod. Dean mirrored. Then, flashlights in hand, they headed off.

The gate, though latched, had not been chained and Dean easily flipped it open and swung the door to the right. It creaked on its hinges, its steely sound cut through the silence of the night. Dean stepped back and crossed protectively in front of Sam. Both boys paused, fearful that they may have revealed themselves, and waited. There was no sign of the evil huntsman and for that they were grateful.

_The scheming chess master, calculating each move, allowed his opponent to think that the board offered no threats, that every piece was visible, and none were threatening the king. Like a pawn, hiding safely behind the illusion that it was moving slowly, innocently across the board, he would wait for the Winchester brothers to naively make their moves. When the king was unsuspecting , the pawn would make his move for queen-ship, trap and capture his opponent's queen, checkmate the king and claim the match. Being a spirit had its advantages, if he couldn't take the prey in life, he would take the prey in death, and oh, the things he could do to the King in death. Intoxicated by the possibilities, the vengeful huntsman returned to his most treasured hunt. _

Dean flashed his light quickly out in front of them to see where they should start and then shone it in Sam's face to check him out one last time.

Sam flinched as the bright light seared into his eyes.

"I'm good!" He barked knowing Dean's intentions were good even if his actions were annoying.

"Maybe….. but not as good as _I _am" Dean teased trying to act as if this was just another hunt.

Sam cocked his head and gave Dean "that look".

"Let's do this!" Dean added and the boys took off searching for Denton's grave site.

The graveyard was eerily quiet and extremely dark, something both boys expected and had experienced before, however this time, their hunt was more personal and that added extra tension. The tomb stones, many dating back to the 17th century, appeared to be in disrepair. The grass was overgrown as if the cemetery had been long since forgotten. There was a gust of wind that brought a chill to the air. Dean couldn't help but wonder if it brought something else along with it.

The boys were in hunt mode. Quiet, stealth like, focused, coordinated in movement and in thought. Each knew that they could afford no mistakes. Each determined to complete the task and not die trying. Each particularly focused on protecting the other. Sam knew what Denton was capable of and he would be damned if he would allow the twisted huntsman to lay a hand on his older brother. Dean knew what Sam had been through and would not allow his little brother to suffer another injustice from this detestable excuse for a ….ghost.

Dean stepped over a broken piece of gravestone as they made their way across the yard. He reached out and grabbed Sam by the sleeve pulling him to the left so he wouldn't trip on its jagged edge.

Sam acknowledged the help with a grateful nod.

Dean's flashlight was the first to find an area of interest. He motioned to Sam and the boys moved in that direction. They came up upon an area of new gravesites. There was one empty hole with dirt piled high along its sides and next to it, a recently covered grave. It was unmarked, but being the only new grave around, Sam and Dean knew who lay beneath it.

"Watch yourself" Dean cautioned softly, tugging on Sam's jacket again when he had unknowingly recoiled from the site towards the empty hole behind him.

Sam was distracted. Dean noticed Sam's nervousness and redirected him to a nearby tree with a gesture of his hand. He didn't want his brother to have to see Denton once Dean unearthed him and he didn't want him to be too close to the grave in case…things didn't go as planned.

Sam nodded, mouthed, "Be careful", raised his loaded shotgun, and took up his position beneath the old oak tree Dean had directed him to, ten yards out. He reached up and snapped off a dead branch that was hanging down in his way. He wanted to be sure he had full view of his brother so he could protect him from……..Sam paused as he pictured the sick hunter's face and then whispered out loud, "Do your job", and refocused.…… protect Dean from Denton, should he need to.

Dean, seeing that his brother was at a safe distance with shot gun in hand and poised for action, threw down his gear and arranged it purposely. He wanted his shotgun within reach should he need it, the gas and salt he placed further back.

He began shoveling as fast as he could; his heart was racing, his mind along with it. Denton was clever, a master at calculating moves, cruel and demented and he could only guess at what the chessman's next move would be. Dean almost wished the bastard would show himself so they could repel him and know the window of time they had to work within. It was the waiting and unknowing that was killing him. The soil moved easily having been freshly placed on top of the grave. What should normally take an hour, would take a lot less time. Dean was hopeful it would all be over soon.

So far, things were going smoothly, but Dean knew to keep up his guard. Sam did too. The boys made eye contact often as Dean dug, both checking to be sure the other was alright. Sam's pendulum swung back and forth between hunter and victim, but was spending more time towards the hunter side. Dean's pendulum swung between warrior and brother, with a mix of both, but he was managing them effectively. Unknowingly, they chanted the same phrase over and over in perfect unison in their minds. 'Keep your focus, Sam. Do your job.' Sam chanted to steady himself. Dean chanted yearning for his unspoken words to shore his little brother up.

Dean's ribs were starting to seriously complain when he finally reached the coffin. Muddy, tired, and growing anxious, he glanced over at Sam.

Sam shifted nervously but held his weapon in check. "Keep your focus, Sam…Do your job" he barely whispered over and over a bit faster than before…soon it was more like…. "focus…job…focus…job."

Dean reached down and opened the coffin...

Denton's body lay dead in the opened box. Its appearance sickened Dean, not because the demented huntsman was dead, but because he wasn't dead enough. It nauseated Dean to see the remains of the one who had so horribly and maliciously abused his little brother.

Not wanting to waste another minute, Dean crawled out of the grave, began covering the sickening body with salt and slowly poured the gasoline on top. He glanced up at Sam who looked expectantly in his direction. Dean smiled at his little brother and reached for his match.

It was then, when it seemed like the chess match was over, that it truly began...as Denton's pawn showed itself to be an exchanged queen.

"DEAN!"

Dean heard Sam's voice but it was too late. As if hit by a freight train barreling recklessly out of control, Dean was flattened to the ground and propelled several meters away where his body slammed cruelly against an unforgiving cement monument.

"DEAN!" Sam hollered as he bolted from his position hidden beneath the tree.

Sam aimed his shotgun in Dean's direction, ready to shoot Denton when he materialized. Desperate to keep the evil huntsman from laying another hand on his brother, he ran towards his fallen sibling, his heart raced uncontrollably in his chest.

Suddenly, to his horror, he saw his brother being heaved up and launched only to be slammed down into the unused grave beside Denton's.

"**DEAN!**"

Sam watched in horror as the dirt pile beside the grave began dumping in on top, burying his brother alive.

"NO! DEAN!"

He ran desperately towards the entrenching dirt and fell to his knees. Dean was flailing, hopelessly trying to keep his head above the increasing depth of the soil.

"SAM!" Dean coughed as the intake of air and dust to call his brother's name choked him.

"GET" ...cough…

gasp..."THE HELL"

gasp..."OUT of h……." The rest of his words were buried under the dirt along with Dean.

"**DEAN!** OH GOD, no, NO!"

Sam attempted to take aim but had nothing to shoot at. He had to do something to free his suffocating sibling before it was too late. Being careful not to hit his brother, he fired blindly into the earth desperately trying to stop what was happening.

**BOOM!**

The shotgun blast, having no effect at all, made only one choice available to Sam. He readied himself to jump in, to save his entombed brother.

_Having captured his opponent's queen, the calculating chessman's spirit made its move ...for the king._

Sam was suddenly seized by what felt like hands and wrenched backwards…...into Denton's grave. His shotgun, still gripped tightly in his hands, fired accidentally as he descended helplessly into the hole.

The impact of his landing was mind and body shattering. He felt his ribs give way beneath him and his lungs began to scream for air. The pain was excruciating and he cried out in agony. Floundering, he struggled frantically to right himself. The gasoline soaked into his jacket and jeans, the salt stung his newly made cuts. He frantically rummaged around in the dark for the shotgun which he had lost contact with just after firing, but to no avail. Being desperate to get out, he began clawing with his bare hands and gasoline soaked legs to get a foothold in the mud walls that surrounded him. He was abruptly and mercilessly yanked downward again, landing on his broken arm. The cast cracked…the bone along with it. A gruesome voice encircled him and laughed hideously, its volume so loud Sam had to cover his ears. Paralyzing fear sliced across his bruised and battered body. The smell of gasoline was overwhelming and stung his eyes. The horror of his brother suffocating in the grave beside him and the sheer terror of falling once again into this madman's grasp besieged him. The hunter in him was defeated; the victim in him took over and lost control.

"DEAN" Sam called as his world became a fog of confusion, panic, and horror. He felt his body being grasped and yanked down yet again and he collapsed on top of Denton's decaying corpse. Sam reeled and threw up. He tried to rise up but his defeated body was unresponsive. Unwillingly, he felt his body begin to shut down.

_Denton's spirit reveled in his cornered prey. Intoxicated by the abomination's surrender, he reached in to remove the king from the game and call it a match._

Unbeknownst to the arrogant, malevolent chessman's spirit, an unwatched pawn had quietly and steadily made _its _way across the board to its opponent's back row and taken _its _rightful place as _queen_.

"**_SAM_**!" Dean screamed from the top of the hole.

Having been written off by Denton, he had been left to resurrect himself.

"**GET BACK!"** he hollered poised in positon with his shot gun in hand.

Sam couldn't budge, overwhelmed with the recapture of his body by Denton, he felt powerless to do anything.

"KEEP FOCUSED, SAM, DO YOUR JOB! Dean hollered desperately trying to spur his brother into action.

Sam began reiterating the words in his head and finding his hunter's strength within, he rolled off Denton to the left.

**_BOOM!_**

The shotgun blast permeated the air leaving a lingering fog behind it. A piece of splintered wood pierced Sam's neck and he yelled in pain. Suddenly, he felt his body being released and he sank down.

"SAM!" Dean yelled as he reached his hand down toward his brother.

"GRAB HOLD"

Sam's mind was swirling in a mess of pain, confusion, and exhaustion. He lifted his head to look for his brother.

"SAM! NOW!"

Though Sam's mind had little understanding, his body knew his brother's voice and rose robotically disentangling itself from its captor who lay impotent beside it. Sam's mind eventually seemed to catch up and he called out to his brother for help.

"Dean" Sam called weakly.

"GIVE ME YOUR HAND!" Dean hollered panicked for his brother.

Sam got up too quickly, staggered and stumbled back down on top of Denton's cadaver.

His stomach heaved and he begged his brother for help.

"Dean_, please,_ get me out of here!"

Dean's heart was over taken by his little brother's plea and he immediately dropped into the hole beside him, grabbed his younger sibling by his jacket and lifted him to his feet.

Sam wobbled in his brother's grasp.

Recognizing Sam was unable to do anything more, Dean shoved his brother's trembling body upwards helping him to clear the lip of the grave. The additional stress of Sam's weight on Dean's cracked and bruised ribs caused shooting pains to radiate outwards. His head was throbbing from the pain of the impact with the cement monument. But knowing he was Sam's only means of escape, he pushed past the pain. Sam moaned as his broken ribs teetered on the edge and he was unable to pull himself forward the rest of the way out. Dean quickly scrambled out. Clearing the top, he threw himself down to the ground in front of the dazed young man and grasping his brother's hands, hurriedly tried to pull him to safety.

"Ah!..." Sam gasped when Dean grabbed his re-broken arm and accidentally raked his broken chest across the edge of the grave.

Dean cringed at the sound of his brother's cries.

He gave a final tug on Sam's good arm and he was up. Dean dropped beside his brother and attempted to help him stand up. Sam pulled away. Seizing, he threw up. Dean tried to brace his brother against the convulsions as they came, knowing how painful they would be with his broken ribs. Sam shook when he was finished and rolled over onto his back. Dean felt powerless to help him.

Knowing it was only a matter of time until Denton returned, Dean grabbed his shot gun and tapped his brother's shoulder with his hand.

"C'mon, Sammy, he'll be back. We gotta finish it."

Sam struggled to roll back over and attempted to push himself up off the ground. Dean did what he could to help. The boys painfully righted themselves and readied to finish the job. Dean ripped Sam's jacket off and had him step back fearful that when he lit the grave, Sam would ignite right along with it.

Without wasting another minute, Dean struck the match.

"Checkmate _again, _you stupid bastard!" Dean declared coldly flicking the lit match into the grave.

Flames instantly engulfed the open pit; relief engulfed Sam and Dean as they stood there and watched.

"You know, Sam...I actually prefer checkers now ...so….

"_**KING ME**, YOU AAROGANT SON OF A BITCH!_" he hollered into the blackness of the night.

Sam's lips formed a slight smile as he swayed slightly to his left. Dean reached over and steadied him. For a moment, the boys stood there, basking in the glow of the demise of the cruel chess master. Seconds later, Sam's legs collapsed beneath him.

Dean grabbed hold of his brother just before he struck the ground. He shifted him sideways, and put his left arm under his neck, his right hand on Sam's chest trying to feel for its rise and fall.

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean begged trying to look him over in the darkness of the graveyard. He couldn't see much, but he could tell Sam's eyes were closed.

Sam didn't answer but lay unmoving in his brother's arms.

"C'mon, little brother, talk to me." Dean beckoned.

He pressed his fingers to Sam's neck…..blood.

"Shit!"

Not knowing what his brother's condition was, but fearing the worst, Dean grabbed hold of Sam's body and quickly dragged him back to the car. He laid him down in the front seat by pulling him through from the other side. The light from the car ceiling shone on Sam's unmoving body. And Dean was devastated with what he saw.

Sam was covered in mud and blood was coming from his neck. His cast was clearly broken, and his arm probably with it. Sam was taking short breaths in gasps and a painful reality struck him again. If he didn't get his brother help soon, he might not make it.

Dean pushed the bloodied cloth from Sam's broken nose onto his neck and pressed down.

"Don't do this, Sam. Don't you do this to me...not again." Dean commanded with tears in his eyes. "Denton's finished, Sammy; he can't _hurt _you anymore. Don't you let him win."

Dean knew he needed to get his brother to the hospital. He patted his little brother's chest and gently raised his head and shoulders, slid behind the wheel and resettled them on his leg. He keyed the ignition, revved the engine, and took off.

The worried sibling looked down and gently placed his hand on Sam's forehead. He tried to turn his head to see if his brother was still breathing. He couldn't tell in the darkness but the gasps he had heard earlier had ceased. His eyes began to tear up as he floored the accelerator.

"C'mon, Sammy, breathe!" Dean beckoned, resting his hand on his brother's chest, desperately feeling for its rise and fall,

Sam's chest rose and fell evenly under Dean's touch.

"That's it, little brother. Hold on, man, We're almost there."

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Authors Note: This was originally going to be two chapters with a big cliffy in the middle...but I just couldn't do it to ya! You guys have been so great and encouraging...let this be my way of saying thanks! Hoped you liked it! Oh, and don't worrry, (smile) there's still more to come. :) Rachelly


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Dean raced frantically through the same streets he had driven a little more than a few hours before as his brother lay silently beside him. He took a corner a bit too fast and had to adjust by slamming on the brakes. Sam's unconscious body slid forward towards the dash. Dean reached out and pulled his brother over to him, resting Sam's head beside his leg.

"Hold on, Sammy, hold on" he begged his brother, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder trying to keep his wounded sibling from moving too much with the jerking of the car. He lifted the t-shirt, bloodied from Sam's nose earlier, to check his little brother's neck where it was bleeding. It didn't appear to be too serious, but Dean wasn't taking any chances and reapplied pressure.

"You're gonna be okay…you hear me, little brother? We're almost there." Dean offered to his wounded sibling hoping his words might reach into Sam's oblivion and offer him some hope.

Within minutes, Dean pulled up to the emergency room, jumped out and started hollering for help. A wave of medics washed over to him and began attending to Sam. Dean followed behind as they rushed him into the building and through the triage doors which swung unfeeling once again cutting off his contact with his brother.

Dean stood confused outside the sterile doors. Worried, relieved, exhausted, and pained, he found a chair and sank down in it. His muddy body, though seemingly noticed by everyone who looked at him, made no impression on his mind. In fact nothing was happening in his mind at all. It was blank. Everything stopped until he knew Sammy was okay.

The clock on the wall ticked nonchalantly as it added up its minutes completed, in anticipation of chiming its next hour. Its chime boldly pronounced one hour and later two, but the empty hunter, now turned brother whose mind had shut down, heard neither of them.

Just as the clock prepared for its next proclamation, Dean was approached. The doctor, knowing from experience who to talk to, had walked over and was beginning to take the seat next to Dean.

Looking up, Dean was surprised to see it was the same doctor who had treated Sam in triage before, after Sam's memory of his torture at the hands of Denton had returned. He wiped his muddy hand across his weary face and braced himself for what was to come.

"Your brother is resting"

Dean knew that's always how it started, _your loved one was resting,_ and then the list of damages would follow. He listened in fear.

"Your brother's nose is broken, his arm and some of his ribs are re-broken, and he has two new cracked ones, but amazingly there were no internal injuries, which is good.

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The list was not surprising after all Sam had been through, but it still hurt to hear it….broken, broken, broken. The word just rattled around in Dean's heart. God, Sammy'd been through a lot. And, on top of that, Dean could only imagine the damage his brother had incurred emotionally, trapped in Denton's grave with his ghost. He had seen his brother lying, defeated on the coffin, retching, and begging for help...broken. The image overwhelmed him and his eyes teared up.

"Shit" Dean exclaimed unexpectedly, upset for Sammy and angry that he wasn't able to hold it together in front of the doctor. He attempted to cover his emotional release. "No internal injuries…good" he repeated back.

At least something was good. Dean waited for the doctor to continue, sensing there was more to come and fearing whether it would be more of what the doctor defined as _good_ or whether the bad was now on its way.

The doctor, a bit surprised by Dean's expletive, but taking an immediate liking to the muddied man that sat before him, continued.

"We removed the splinters that had embedded in his neck and sutured where necessary. There's no arterial or deep tissue damage, which is also good. "

Dean nodded again…okay, more of the supposedly "good stuff"…then he waited for the ball to drop. He knew doctors always tell you the "good" stuff first, and then lay the life threatening shit right after and give you an arbitrary percentage number that's supposed to tell you whether or not your world will come crashing down. He looked down at his muddied knees and waited for the dreaded number.

The doctor, noticing Dean's demeanor, began to reassure him.

"That _was _the 'bad news'" he said softly. "The good news is that your brother's collapse was caused mostly by exhaustion, which, with rest, can be easily overcome."

Easily overcome…the words washed over Dean like a Peppermint Patty…cool and refreshing, bringing relief to his soul.

"He must have overexerted himself when he……."

The doctor paused not knowing the cause of Sam's new injuries.

"….fell" Dean interjected, unprepared for the question , realizing a battle with a dead man's sadistic ghost probably wouldn't be received well and not wanting to end up in the psychiatric ward himself.

The doctor looked at Dean, surprised that a fall could cause such injuries.

"down the …motel stairs" Dean added glancing down and to the right.

The doc raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

"into the street …where… he….. got… _hit… _by a car" Dean offered glancing up to check the good doc's reaction.

The doc furrowed his eyebrows and looked questioningly down at Dean's muddy clothes.

"and … thrown… into a mud puddle?" Dean eked out, hoping the doctor would buy it but realizing someone as intelligent as to have a medical degree probably wouldn't.

"Wow. Now _that's_ having a bad day." He replied eying Dean suspiciously thinking that the boys had probably been foolishly dirt biking at night where they shouldn't have been.

"Well, just make _sure _you get a room on the _**first** _floor next time" the doctor cautioned, "…away from any **_stairs_** or **_vehicles_** or I'll have to **_report_ **the incident to the authorities".

Dean got the message loud and clear. Next time he or Sammy needed medical attention….. choose a different hospital….not that Dean was EVER going to let his little brother anywhere near trouble… again…. for a very long time...okay, for as long as he lived.

Dean looked back at the doctor. He offered no additional information and no percentage number. He had feared his brother would need life saving surgery, the removal of some important organ that would change his life forever, or at least a lengthy stay in the hospital. Granted his injuries happened at night and he hadn't actually seen the physical harm Denton had done to his brother, but still, Dean had expected worse. The news, at least the physical well being news, _was_ good.

"So, that's it?

"That's it, unless you need us to take a look at you."

"No, I'm good" Dean replied. Compared to Sammy, he _was_ good.

"How long in the hospital?"

"He'll be released later this afternoon if there are no changes or concerns. He's going to need a SAFE, quiet place to rest and at _least _2-3 weeks of little to no activity to recover. The bones will take 6-8 weeks to completely heal so …. **No** "_stairs_" for a while."

"Yes, sir" Dean replied in response to the authoritative tone the doctor used.

A nurse scurried out of the emergency room and beckoned for the doctor and he excused himself.

"Hey" Dean called after him jumping up. "Can I see him?"

"They're casting him now." The doctor answered and looked at the muddy mess standing before him. "Might be best if you _wait_ until he comes out."

Dean smiled embarrassingly as he glanced down at his appearance.

"I think… I'll….go….get washed up and come back." Dean announced awkwardly.

The doctor nodded thinking that was a very good idea and turned to go.

"He'll be alright while I'm gone?" Dean called after him feeling uncomfortable leaving Sam alone in the hospital, but wanting to clean up so he could be at his side.

The amused doctor smiled. "We'll _try_ to take care of him until you get back."

"Oh, right"….Dean laughed with his crooked smile…. " you being a hospital and all…"

"Yeah… and _all_" the doctor replied amusingly.

Dean smiled awkwardly and left.

An hour later, Dean returned ready to be whatever Sam needed…a helper, a listener, a cheerleader…God, he hoped he didn't have to go there, a friend, a brother, a father…whatever. He wasn't sure what to expect. He dreaded seeing his little brother broken once again on the outside with more bruises, stitches and cuts. Hell, the kid was already a walking insurance advertisement. The thought saddened him and though he would rarely admit it, Sam's pain was his own and it would actually hurt to see him suffering again.

Then, add to that, there were the hidden injuries, the unseen ones, the emotional ones, whose wounds would take a lot more time to heal and leave bigger scars. Dean had no idea the effects they would have on Sammy. More nightmares? Paralyzing fears in the middle of hunts? Dean wasn't even sure Sam would ever be able to hunt again…not that he would let him.

Then Dean began to think back over the past few weeks and took hope. They had begun the process of healing, having talked, teared, laughed and played together. Sam had made good progress. Dean would do whatever it took for however long Sammy needed it to get him back. He would comfort him after the nightmares and hell, even give up hunting if he had to. Together, they would sort things out, heal, and move ahead.

After checking in with the Emergency Room desk, he was taken back to see his brother. Sam lay behind a curtain, wrapped tightly in a white blanket, on a gurney. He was awake though clearly sedated. Swollen and bruised, Sam's face was a mess and very painful looking. His eyes and nose were blackened from the blood that had collected around them. He had a large gash on his forehead and his lip was split. A big gauze pad lay across his neck, bloodied from the seepage of his injury. The only things that escaped the sterile white blanket that hugged him were his newly casted arm and the tubes and wires on either side of him keeping track of his well being, beeping and pinging out his stats.

Dean's stomach dropped as he took in his little brother's frail form on the bed before him. He looked so beaten down, so vulnerable. He and Sam had survived many a beating over the years, but this was different, worse because it was compounded with prior injuries and the emotional pain that was yet to be uncovered.

"Damn" he softly whispered.

Having heard the curtain being drawn back, its metal clips sliding along the track, and the sound of his brother's voice, Sam opened his eyes.

"Hey" Dean 'pinged' compassionately as he closed the curtain to offer his brother some privacy.

"Hey" Sam 'pinged' back.

Dean moved in closer and rested his hand on Sam's unbroken arm. He placed his other hand gently on Sam's head with his thumb on his forehead. It was a tender thing to do and Sam welcomed his brother's comfort. Sam turned his head into his brother's hand.

"You okay?" Dean answered hesitantly, feeling his voice crack slightly.

Sam nodded, blinking slowly. He looked up at his brother's bruised face and head. The image of Dean slamming into the monument and being buried alive flashed in his mind.

"You" he asked quietly

"I'm always okay" Dean responded with a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eye. He removed his hand from his brother's head and pulled up a chair, close so as to be able to keep contact with Sam's arm. It was more for himself than for Sam, but he did it anyways.

"Yeah" Sam snorted softly and then winced when his ribs didn't appreciate his quick exhalation.

"Easy, Sammy. Didn't the doctor tell you?... No snorting at your big brother? At least not until you're better, anyways."

Sam smiled and then paused.

"Can we go now, Dean?" Sam asked vulnerably, almost pleadingly, searching his brother's eyes.

"I don't know, Sam…… Soon I guess."

Dean noted the look in his brother's eyes. It wasn't really a question. Sam wanted out.

"What's the hurry?" Dean asked gently.

"I just want to get out of here, Dean." Sam said sadly.

Sam just wanted his body to be his own once again, not an object to be tortured or prodded and poked by a hospital. He wanted to be back at "home" with is brother where things were 'normal', where he felt safe and he was an equal with Dean, not the helpless victim he had become. His eyes implored and Dean heard their unspoken cry. It pained Sam to be there and Dean could see that. His brother didn't just want to leave, he needed to.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see what I can do" he replied tapping Sam's arm gently before disappearing behind the curtain.

Dean nodded and left to get the nurse. After a lengthy conversation, he convinced the staff to release Sam.

Upon reappearing, Sam reopened his eyes and looked hopefully at his brother.

"You're good" Dean replied smiling, having once again come to the rescue.

Sam nodded and gave a heartfelt, "Thanks, Dean".

Dean mirrored and smiled, pleased he had lifted at least one of his little brother's burdens.

They waited for a bit in silence knowing the nurses would soon be in to get Sam out.

Sam finally closed his eyes, assured of his brother's presence and the promised release that was on its way.

It wasn't long before the staff came back to finish Sam's care. Dean had to sign a ton of papers, again, but he didn't mind. It was for a good cause.

Then, when it was time, he stepped out to let them unplug and unhook his brother and went to wait in the lounge just outside the emergency ward. He took a seat near the door. Upon glancing up, he saw a lot of faces in front of him: sad faces, worried faces, tired faces, and despairing faces. He almost felt like he didn't belong because none of these faces reflected his own…hope. His brother was alive and, though he had been through hell, he was going to find his way back. Dean would make damn sure of that and he'd be with him all of the way.

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Author's note: Still more to come! Rachelly


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Dean sat in the waiting room eager to get Sam _home_, safe, where he wanted to be, in the presence and protection of his older brother. After all, that's what _home _was for the both of them. Well, that and the Impala.

He understood Sam's desire to leave. His brother felt helpless, once again under someone else's control, though the hospital meant it for his good, it still did not afford Sam the power over his body and his life, he so desperately needed. His whole world has been turned upside down for almost a month, the exact opposite of what his little brother has always longed for: the wife, the house, the minivan (Dean smirked at the thought of Sam driving a minivan), the 2.5 kids and of course the dog. This past month had been anything but that….no wife, no kids, no dog, a deranged psycho hunter, torture, a hospital stay, a haunting and re-hunting by Denton….and then add to that…being dragged into the sick bastard's grave…Damn...one hell of a month.

Saddened by the long list of all his brother had suffered this month and in general, forfeited, with the life style the boys now had, Dean choked up. Sam wanted, no he _needed,_ some sense of normalcy. Not that their lives were "normal" by any means, but they did have a routine and in that, Sam's body was his own and there was always Dean, a familiar "safe" relationship where Sam was surrounded by love, a relationship built on trust, and Sam needed that, lots of it, if he were to recover. While he couldn't offer Sam the perfect life, he could offer him a trusted brother who would live for him and die for him and Dean hoped that would give his little brother what he needed, at least right now, to have the strength to go on.

Dean glanced up at the clock on the wall as it chimed out its new hour. It seemed like it was taking forever for Sam to be released and he began wishing he'd stayed in the room with his little brother while they got him ready.

Getting anxious and agitated, he approached the receptionist.

"Sam Winchester? How long till he comes out?"

"One minute less than the _last _time you asked!" she exasperatingly retorted.

"Man! How hard is it to _pull _a plug? I don't have a medical degree and even I know you just _yank_ it out of the wall." Dean muttered under his breath.

"Well, if they need _your_ help, I'll tell them where you are…..in the WAITING room!"

Dean snorted. "Somebody had too much _fiber _in their diet" he muttered as he turned to walk away.

"I heard that!" the indignant woman retorted.

"Good!" he answered childishly back as he took up his seat once again by the door.

Fifteen minutes later, after having eaten two of his finger nails and made faces at the annoying kid who kept giving him the finger from across the room, Dean stood up to re-approach the receptionist.

She just looked at him, stiffened her lips, shook her head and pointed him back to his seat.

"Hope you come back as a ghost one day. I'd love to hunt your …."

A commotion behind him drew Dean's attention away. The unfeeling sterile door that had twice severed his contact with his little brother, graciously opened, releasing Sam back into his care. The younger brother was wheeled out to Dean, a sight for sore eyes. Apart from his face which was an absolute mess from his broken nose and the overtired look that revealed itself in his eyes, he seemed alert and relaxed and Dean was very grateful.

Sam smiled at his brother, pleased he was going home, though a little embarrassed about having to be in a wheel chair.

"Like your new _wheels_" Dean commented seemingly supportive.

Sam realized his brother had picked up on his humiliation and was trying to be kind about it. Dean would usually ride Sam whenever he had the chance. Sam was amused and began looking forward to getting treated royally for the next few days.

"Yeah?"

"No…. not really." Dean teased as he compared Sam's new "ride" to his '67 Chevy.

Sam, realizing his brother had set him up, quickly tried to return his volley.

"Well, it's not much, but at _least_ it doesn't play Metallica."

"Cute, very cute" Dean snorted at Sam's dig on his musical preference. He was pleased that after everything his brother had been through, he still had his sense of humor.

"Thanks," Sam said affectionately. "Always was, always will be."

Dean immediately caught Sam's humor as he flashed back to his previous comment when he had left Sam for a haircut, then returned the volley.

"S'good to see you up and about, little brother. Well….. _not_ really _up,_ but _definitely _about" Dean said lightheartedly as he pitched the ball back into Sam's court.

The orderly, having watched the two ping pong back and forth with their comments was completely confused.

"Yeah, it's good to be …_about_" Sam smiled back.

Dean could always bring a smile out of Sam even when he didn't think there was one left in him and for that he was grateful. He decided to let the ball fall in his own court giving his brother the point.

As they headed to leave, Dean couldn't resist and snidely looked back at the receptionist, pointed to Sam, and waved goodbye… obnoxiously.

She huffed and returned to her paperwork.

Dean left to get the Impala while the orderly waited with Sam at the curb. The younger sibling exchanged his "wheels" for Dean's and the brothers headed off towards the motel.

Sam, feeling exhausted, rested his head against the window of the car.

"Wanna lay down?" Dean asked supportively.

"Nah, I'm good"

Dean nodded accepting his brother's wishes. Sam was quiet but awake and Dean couldn't help but wonder what was rattling around inside the corridors of his little brother's head. Sam didn't _seem _upset or worried or even sad, but with all that had happened, Dean still grew concerned with his brother's silence. He would respect Sam's need for quiet, at least for now, but if his brother "submerged", he would have to initiate or even force "contact".

Sam glanced several times at Dean and couldn't help but notice he was favoring his right side. His arm was tucked supportively along his ribs and he was driving one handedly with his left.

Dean was surprised by Sam's inspection and, coupled by his silence, had to 'ping'.

"What's up?"

"I've got some serious pain stuff if you need it" Sam commented.

Dean knew that was Sammy speak for... _I'm worried about you...are you okay?_ He was touched by his brother's concern.The kind offer of pain relief reminded him of when they were kids, when Sammy had offered him the prize inside a cereal box. It had been something Sam had wanted but was willing to give away for his brother's sake. Dean was also taken back that his brother was thinking about _him _and _his_ well being. Sam had every reason to be focused on himself, hell, to expect the whole world focus on him, but no, not Sam. He was sitting there offering his only means of pain relief to his brother. After everything he'd been through, Sammy still had his kind heart. Dean was pleased. Sammy's heart _and_ his sense of humor, two things he loved about his brother, hadn't been taken from him. Things were looking hopeful.

"I'm fine, Sam.You?"

"Yeah, I'm good" Sam replied with a hesitation in his voice.

Dean glanced over skeptically.

"I am" the youngest brother reiterated and then added, "I can't believe it's over"

Dean nodded, glad that Sam looked at it that way.

"It _is _over" Dean confirmed.

The boys rode for a bit in silence. Dean wasn't sure if his quietness was tiredness or something more until Sam finally spoke.

"Hey, Dean?"

The older sibling glanced over, raised his eyebrows and looked at his beckoning brother.

"I'm sorry." Sam barely whispered.

Taken back by his brother's comment, Dean questioned, "For what"

He couldn't imagine what Sam was thinking…sorry? It was the last thing he had expected and he jumped into listening mode.

"Everything, man ...you being _dumped_ in the middle of nowhere, your ribs, your head, God, being buried alive… _None _of this would have happened if _I_ wasn't…….

Dean changed channels to big brother mode and quickly interrupted.

"If you weren't what, Sam, ...gifted? **No.** **_None of this would've happened if DENTON _wasn't such an asshole!" **

Dean, startled by the force with which he had spoken, softened and continued.

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Sam, this wasn't your fault. _You _didn't do this to me. If you need to blame someone, blame Denton, that sick son of a bitch. This had everything to do with him and _nothing, _absolutely _nothing _to do with you or your abilities!"

Dean paused to let the words sink in. Sam remained quiet and thinking. Dean wasn't sure he'd convinced his little brother and he continued.

"You gotta let it go, man. If you blame yourself and hang on to the fear and pain he pushed on you, then the bastard will have gotten exactly what he wanted, hell even better cuz you'll be alive and suffering at his hand and his words for the rest of your life. He's dead, Sam, let him take his crap to the grave with him. "

Sam nodded. Denton _had_ already caused enough pain and suffering, that was for sure and Sam didn't want to let the monster continue to have a hold over him. The huntsman, having messed with his thinking, made it difficult for Sam to see things the right way and he knew it. But he trusted Dean and if Dean said it was Denton's fault, he was willing to accept that. His mind and heart embraced his brother's words and relief once again washed over him.

Dean glanced over to "read" his brother. He could see the wheels were still turning ,but somehow they were spinning differently. As he pulled the Impala up to the motel, he slowly came to a stop, undid his keys and sat back…ready to talk more if Sam needed to.

Sam blinked and turned to his brother.

"Dean, uh"

Dean knew that tone...

"I wanna _thank_ you"

Dean attempted to block the caring sharing moment that was on its way. It had a "chick flick" feel to it. He was willing to do or be anything for Sammy if he needed him, but this was gonna be a transparency he wasn't sure he could deal with.

"Dude, no……"

"You're always there for me, man… I mean…You really laid down your life...at the farmhouse, in the hospital, at the motel, at the cemetery. I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you."

Dean was really moved by his brother's words. He would always lay down his life for his little brother, no matter what, no thanks needed. He lived for him and he would die for him. It's who he is and what he does and he's damn glad to have his little brother to do it for.

"Hey, dude, you're not gonna get all mushy and cry on my leather seats, are ya?" Dean joked trying to brush the uncomfortable words Sam was sharing back into the silent realms where they usually existed.

Sam snorted.

Dean smiled over at his brother, letting him know that he really did appreciate what his little brother had said, even if it was a bit, well…chick flicky.

Sam caught the smile and reflected it back to his brother. Then, growing weary, he laid his head on the window again.

Dean, recognizing the moment had passed along with his little brother's energy, popped open his driver side door and moved quickly to Sam's. He opened it and helped his little brother out. He was careful not to touch his nose, ribs, arms and well… pretty much… was careful not to touch him at all except for the arm his brother had placed over his shoulders for support. That, he held on tightly to attempting to steady his wobbly brother's large frame. Sam moved very slowly trying to prevent any extra waves of pain.

As they neared the room, Sam paused suddenly. The jerk caused them both to stumble a bit and Dean searched Sam's face worriedly fearing his brother was in some kind of trouble.

"Is it your chest?" Dean questioned anxiously, fearful that he had hurt his brother in some way.

Sam just stood, frozen, as if someone had just shut a door in his face.

"Talk to me, Sam! What's wrong?" Dean implored stepping out in front of his brother grasping both his shoulders in his hands.

Sam looked deep into his brother's eyes and then over at their motel door and Dean knew.

"No, Sam, not any more, little brother." Dean replied compassionately. "I got us a _different_ room. Okay?"

Sam's body relaxed as he released the breath he had been holding. Dean searched his little brother's face checking to see if he was okay.

"Okay?" he reiterated wanting to know his brother had heard and understood him. There was no way in hell Dean would have taken Sam back to the room where Denton had terrorized him, where he'd screamed his brother's name, and been buried under the door.

Sam nodded and the brothers reassumed their positions making their way slowly down the walkway.

"Over there" the elder brother finally gestured as he pulled his brother toward an upcoming doorway.

Dean leaned Sam gently against the door frame as he unlocked the gateway to their new "home" and swung it open.

After several gasps and groans from both of them, Dean got Sam in the room, helped him change, gently laid him down and tucked him carefully into bed.

As Dean stood over his brother, their eyes met for a moment. Sam looked appreciatively at his brother, thankful to return to his "normal" life, side by side with his brother free from any threats, at least for a little while.

Dean nodded, understanding fully his brother's gesture. He couldn't help but shy away from the appreciation his brother had offered once again. Taking care of Sam was what Dean did and he felt embarrassed to have it acknowledged.

"You want somethin' to eat?" Dean questioned , eager to change the subject.

"Nah"

"Sam, you have to eat to get your strength back. I'll go grab ya something and be right back."

Sam smiled amusingly.

"Why do you even bother _asking _me if I want something to eat? I don't really _have _a choice, do I? If I say _no,_ you start answering yes for me."

"It wasn't really a question, Sam" Dean answered unsure himself why he had phrased it that way. "You _need _to eat."

Dean reached in his pockets searching for his keys.

"I'll go check what they're serving at the motel restaurant and see if it looks good. I can always run down to our _favorite _diner and see what the special is for today " Dean joked trying to picture the face on the waitress if they started frequenting her place again.

"Maybe they have meatloaf" he added teasingly, knowing Sam hated diner meatloaf and mashed potatoes swimming in greasy gravy. He laughed and began heading towards the door.

"Dean, no!"

Dean turned around, startled by his brother's almost panicked reaction, feeling badly that he had upset him.

"I'm kidding, Sam" Dean explained. " I won't get you _meatloaf._ I promise I'll pick up something you like. Alright?"

"Could you just stay...here..."Sam pleaded, surprised by his own neediness. He looked embarrassingly up at his brother.

Dean saw a whole mix of emotions pass through his little brother's eyes. Sadness, neediness, embarrassment, and fear.

"Easy, Sammy,... it's okay," Dean offered soothingly, trying to ease his sibling's mind as he placed his keys back in his pocket and returned to Sam's side.

"We'll order out …get something delivered, no problem, okay?" Dean continued, reassuring his little brother that he wouldn't leave him.

Dean chastised himself, _Good one, Dean, ya stupid idiot._ He was frustrated that he had even suggested leaving Sam alone after he had already expressed that he needed to be _with_ his big brother in the first place. Sam's emotions were all over the place and fragile, and he needed to be careful not to add to his pain.

Sam shook his head.

"Maybe a little later, huh? I'm not hungry… I think the pain meds are making me sick or something."

"Yeah, okay" Dean answered taking a seat in the chair he had placed next to Sam's bed, "but if you get hungry you let me know."

Sam nodded again as his eyes began to glaze a bit.

"You get any sleep in the hospital?

"Nah. I'm not sure I really _want_ to close my eyes, let alone _sleep._"

Dean nodded. He fully understood his brother's loss of his sense of safety. Denton had robbed it from him. And then, of course, there were the nightmares. Both Sam and Dean knew that Sam would struggle in the realms of unconsciousness with Denton and all that had happened. Dean hated Sam's nightmares. It was the one "place" Dean couldn't go to protect his brother, where his brother would be alone, unarmed and unsuspecting and lay victim to the inner scars his mind had no control over. All Dean could ever do is pull his brother from his nightmare once he detected its attack. He hated not being able to do more.

"I'm not tired. I'll keep watch" he offered reassuringly, verbally recognizing his brother's underlying needs. "I'll wake ya if you have…. you know….a nightmare."

Sam nodded again gratefully. God it felt good to be back with his brother.

Dean watched as his little brother's blinking slowed. It wasn't long before sleep claimed his exhausted and pained sibling.

He looked over his brother's sleeping form assessing the damage once again. Sam's broken bones, bruises and wounds would heal in time, leaving scars as constant reminders of all he had suffered at Denton's hand. But over time, he would get used to scars. Dean had. He barely noticed them anymore, just added them to the rest and moved on. But the emotional scars would be a lot harder to deal with. They exist, but you can't see them, so you can't get used to them. Then someday, somewhere, something triggers them and they reveal themselves for what they really are…horrible fingerprints from something dreadful that had happened in the past. Re-traumatized, you struggle to get passed them again, to allow them to fade slowly from consciousness only to have them lie in wait until resurrected by the next trigger. Dean knew these scars as well. He'd suffered them many times in his lifetime beginning with his mother's death. He'd always hoped he could spare Sam this vicious cycle, protect him from things that caused those kinds of scars which exist within the very depths of the heart, but he couldn't. Jessica's death and Denton's cruelty were two that were definitely beyond his control.Sam's sense of safety had been shattered, his confidence in who he is and what he'll become shaken and scarred. He'd been forced to be the most vulnerable he'd ever been, and it would take courage and strength to over come his fears, to see himself once again as the noble and fearless hunter Dean knew he was. He would have to learn to recognize the triggers and learn to bridle the memories, tame them, conquer them when they reared their heads. Dean only hoped that he could, over time, help Sam not to trigger easily, and if triggered, protect himself.

Dean's ribs began to complain within him, so he decided to ready himself for his bedside vigil, the one so familiar to him from the many nights in the hospital. He would need his "sinking" chair positioned next to Sammy's bed and of course his little brother's valuables would need to be placed carefully on his nightstand. Dean wished he had a balloon, but figured he could always get one in the morning when he went for food, if Sam was okay with that. He'd have to think of something creative to write on it if he could find a black marker.

Sam's valuables were still tucked safely inside the hijacked laundry bag from the hospital which had been haphazardly placed on the coffee table when Dean switched rooms. Unloading it, he placed the _empty _chocolate candy bar on the night stand with Sadie to stand guard and smiled, "Not much of a watch dog, are ya?" he mocked. Then he placed Sam's watch beside Sadie. "Maybe this will help ya" he smiled, turning to Sam for a response. He had forgotten his sibling was fast asleep. His humor unappreciated, he turned back to the bag.

He placed the checkerboard and the pieces, well most of them, one piece was still A.W.O.L., to the left. The board was well worn, having given itself in service to the boys for many a game. Dean had come to love the simplicity of checkers. It was the very game that undid Denton. He had sadly miscalculated! Denton had been playing the wrong game. In chess, your opponent has only one king. In checkers, there can be more than one. Sam and Dean were both kings and Denton had sadly misunderstood that!

Clumped together in the bottom, lay the snipped pieces of Sam's leather 'rope'. The pieces were painfully symbolic to Dean. They were broken much like his little brother had been. He looked down on his resting sibling. They'd been through a lot together the past year, but somehow they'd always made it through. This would be no different, of that, Dean would make sure. Sam had a lot of shit to work through, Denton had cruelly dumped a heavy burden on his little brother. Hopefully knowing that the huntsman could never hurt him again would bring him the final healing piece that, when put with the others, would free Sam to be himself again, maybe even stronger because he had overcome an insurmountable enemy, Denton, and the fear and helplessness he had created.

Dean looked down at his own leather band and after a moment, he removed it and placed it on the side of the nightstand closest to Sam. The whole "rope" held the promise that one day Sammy would be whole again too, not in pieces as his old one was. Dean was okay with giving it to his brother. Sam would always be his brother and he didn't need a leather "rope" to remind him of their oath. They were and always would be... Brothers for Life.

Pulling the broken leather pieces from the bottom of the bag, he tucked them safely in his pocket to keep care of, much like Sam, until they would be seen as merely a part of the past, their brokeness not representing Sam's anymore.

Dean's stomach growled, roaring angrily for food. He considered picking up the phone and ordering something but it lay beside Sam's sleeping form and he didn't wish to disturb the kid. He needed to rest. Instead, Dean decided he would double up on breakfast in the morning..

Expecting Sam's valuables bag to be empty, Dean was surprised to find that it wasn't. Unseen, because it had apparently been hidden underneath the leather stips, lay the small black checker piece that had been missing; the one that had abruptly and mysteriously disappeared, ending Dean's constant winning streak whilst Sam had been medicated in the hospital. Dean couldn't help but smile.

"Sammy, you dog! I _knew _you had it!" he laughed glancing once again at his little brother with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Having finished his preparatory work of getting Sam's nightstand perfectly organized, Dean was ready to begin his bedside vigil. He gently pulled Sam's blanket up over his shoulder and tucked in the corners. Then he sunk down in yet another uncomfortable chair, and dozed off.

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The next morning, Sam awoke to the gawking smile of Dean on the chair next to his bed.

The elder Winchester sibling cheerfully held out his hand and offered Sam his pain medication and a glass of water.

Sam appreciated Dean's kind gesture and accepted the drugs, realizing he'd be a bit incoherent, but willing to eliminate the pain that had returned mercilessly to him. Dean helped Sam sit up enough to be able to swallow. He drank and swallowed eying his brother carefully, noticing that he was a bit over zealous. Still, he thanked him anyway and settled back down.

Dean set the glass down on the nightstand. Content that his brother would soon be feeling no pain and would be lacking coherency, he turned schemingly back to his little brother and grinned.

"Wanna play checkers?"

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Author's Note: I have really enjoyed sharing this story with all of you! Your generous comments and humor have inspired me to go much farther than I ever thought I could! Thank you from the bottom of my heart and God Bless! …Rachelly


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